


Sin and Duty

by catie_writes_things



Series: better than things dreamed of in the forest [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Adultery, And there are Consequences, Bumi is secretly Zuko's son, Family, Gen, POV First Person, the adultery fic for people who hate adultery fics i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 84,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: As a child, Bumi knew: his mother was a waterbender, his father was an airbender, and he was a firebender. Something about these facts did not add up, but it would take him a long time to understand.Or: One choice can have a lot of consequences.





	1. Secrets

_Conversely, this act, done under the influence of a soaring and iridescent Eros which reduces the role of the senses to a minor consideration, may yet be plain adultery, may involve breaking a wife’s heart, deceiving a husband, betraying a friend, polluting hospitality and deserting your children. It has not pleased God that the distinction between a sin and a duty should turn on fine feelings._

_ _ \- C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves _ _

* * *

I was seven years old when my sister Kya was born, old enough to start asking questions.

“Dad,” I said, watching my father brush the spring shed out of his bison’s thick white coat. “Do you think the new baby will be an earthbender?” A very logical proposition, to my childish understanding.

My father laughed and shook a clump of bison hair out of the large bamboo brush he was using. “No, Bumi,” he explained patiently as he continued his task, brushing the darker fur on Appa’s head. “She could be a waterbender like your mother, or an airbender like me.” A half-shrug, and he added almost as an afterthought, “Or a nonbender like you.”

“But you’re an earthbender, too,” I protested. I had seen my father bend all four elements - air most frequently, but water and earth often enough, and even fire if the occasion called for it.

“I’m the Avatar,” my father clarified, though at the time I had little idea what that meant. “But I’m still an Air Nomad.” Seeing my look of confusion, he gave Appa a placating pat on the head and came to crouch in front of me where I was seated on a bale of hay. “The Avatar can bend all four elements. But for anybody else, in order to bend an element, you have to have at least one parent from that nation.”

I tilted my head slightly to one side, studying my father’s face - open, honest, expecting some sign that I understood. But his words made no sense to me. “I don’t get it,” I admitted.

With a sigh, my father stood, patted my head much as he had done to the bison a moment earlier, then resumed his task, brushing Appa’s flank. “Maybe it will make sense when you’re older.”

I picked at the hay I was sitting on, tugging loose a long stalk and twirling it in between my fingers. Maybe it would make sense one day, I thought. Or maybe, the unsettling possibility occurred to me for the first time, maybe my father was wrong. Maybe there really were things even he didn’t understand.

Because I knew, though he didn’t, that I could bend fire.

* * *

I was a late bloomer, six years old and no sign of bending, my parents already resigned that this was to be my fate. They never said as much to me, of course, but I could tell my father especially was disappointed. Children notice these things.

So the first time a flame danced to life in my hand, I was excited. My father was away on one of his many journeys, some important Avatar business, but I ran to show my mother, expecting her to share in my delight. I held up the little tongue of fire, cradled in both hands, full of innocent exuberance. “Mom, look what I can do!”

When she recovered from the initial shock, she smiled, but I could tell it was forced. Her eyes were not happy or proud, but afraid. Quickly I closed my outstretched hands into fists, snuffing out the fire, and drew back a little. “Is that bad?” I asked, worried that I had done something wrong, to upset her.

“Oh, no, it’s not bad,” she hastily reassured me, pulling me into a hug. “It’s...it’s very special, what you can do.” If it wasn’t a bad thing, why did she sound so sad? When she held me at arms’ length, she was no longer even forcing a smile, but looked more serious than I had ever seen her before. “In fact, it’s so special,” she said carefully, “I think we should keep it just between us. Our secret.”

I was a child. She was my mother. If she said it should be a secret, I trusted her completely. But still I asked, “Why?”

My mother took hold of both of my small hands in hers. “If other people found out…” she began, then considered her next words carefully. “Well, they wouldn’t understand. Better you and I are the only ones to know.”

“And Dad?” I asked, certain she would amend the new rules she was establishing to include him as well. Of course my father would know that I was a bender after all. That was all I really wanted.

But what my mother said next would alter the course of the rest of my life. “No,” she replied firmly, her grip on my hands tightening. “No one else, not even your father. Is that clear?”

Stunned, I could only nod.

My mother hugged me again, and I clung to her, my one anchor in this new, frightening world I was to live in, where I was a firebender and my parents kept secrets from each other. When she spoke again, I think it was more to herself than to me. “Your father especially wouldn’t understand.”

* * *

It was a few weeks before my eighth birthday. My father was gone again - something in Ba Sing Se required his attention, I think, though he would make it back to Kyoshi where we still lived then just in time to give me my birthday present. I missed him when he was away, but there were little consolations. When he wasn’t around, we ate more meat, and my mother would let me use my firebending for small, domestic things, like lighting a lamp, or starting the cooking fire.

But at that moment, I was not bending. My mother was mending a shirt I had torn, Kya was in her cradle swatting at the little figures of koi fish that hung over her head, and I was spread out on the floor with paper and a set of colored pencils my Uncle Sokka had given me. I showed about as much promise as an artist as Appa did at reciting poetry, but my uncle encouraged me nonetheless.

This particular masterpiece was to be a family portrait. I drew my father first - a tall stick figure with a blue arrow taking up most of his face, some vague orange scribbles for clothes. My mother was similarly attired in blue, with a brown braid sticking out from the side of her head. Next to her I drew myself, wearing a darker blue, and if the black lines sticking straight up from my scalp were an accurate representation of what my hair looked like, this was purely coincidental. Finally, I added Kya, though, uncertain of how to draw a baby, I simply made her a smaller stick figure with a single brown curl on top of her head.

Picking up the dark blue pencil again, I added some more squiggles next to my mother’s stick-hands to show she was waterbending. I went back and forth over the proper color to draw air - which, after all, was invisible - before giving up and scribbling in a brown rock next to my father instead. After another moment’s consideration, I added a red jet of flame in his other hand as well.

I looked at the red pencil in my hand, then at my own stick figure self.

“What a lovely drawing, Bumi!” my mother exclaimed, picking up the paper before I could come to a decision. “I think it’s just missing one thing.”

“What?” I asked eagerly, gripping the red pencil a little tighter.

“You should add Appa,” my mother replied, holding the drawing back out to me with a smile.

“Nah,” I said, tossing the pencil aside. “I don’t know how to draw a sky bison.” Besides, Appa was mostly white, and while I did have a white pencil, I had never known what use it was supposed to be on equally white paper. “I think it’s done.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” my mother said. I nodded, and she went to add the family portrait to the collection of my other masterpieces that adorned one wall. 

Kya’s little hand made contact with one of the koi fish, sending it swinging on its string, and she let out a giggle. “Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Do you think Kya will be an earthbender?”

My mother turned away from the wall of drawings and gave me a careful, searching look. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, Dad bends air,” I began. He could bend all the elements of course, but I knew by then that air was special to him. “And you bend water, and I bend fire, so...earth’s the only element we’re missing, right?”

My mother sighed and went back to her seat by Kya’s cradle. “That’s not how it works,” she said, picking up her sewing again. Unlike my father, she did not offer further explanation. So I asked.

“Well, how does it work? Because Dad said-”

My mother let out a sharp hiss, and I started, before I realized she had only pricked herself with her sewing needle. Still, the look she gave me this time was stern. “What did you say to your father?”

“Nothing!” I protested. I knew the rules, and hadn’t done anything to give away our secret. “I just asked him the same question, if Kya could be an earthbender!”

My mother’s face softened. She set the sewing aside, and held out her arms. Obediently, I got up and went to her, and she drew me onto her lap. “And he said no, of course,” she guessed.

I nodded. “But I thought, since he doesn’t know about me, maybe he was wrong,” I confided in a small voice.

My mother hugged me tighter, and I rested my head on her shoulder. “No,” she said, that strange sadness in her voice again. “Your father’s right.”

“But how do you know?” I pressed. I didn’t want to wait until I was older to understand.

My mother ran one hand over my hair, then traced soothing circles on my back. “I just do,” she replied. It was an answer I had heard her give before - when Kya wasn’t born yet, and she’d insisted the new baby was a girl, and my father had asked her the same question - how do you know? She just did. My mother just knew things.

If there was more to it, I couldn’t figure it out, and she wasn’t going to tell me.

* * *

When I was eleven, we left Kyoshi and moved to what would later become Air Temple Island. Living just outside the newly-founded Republic City was supposed to make it easier for my father to attend to most of his Avatar duties without having to spend so much time away from home, which I was now old enough to realize was a point of contention between my parents. This worked out well for about three years, before Tenzin revealed himself to be a precocious airbender, and suddenly my father had to give him a traditional Air Nomad upbringing - which of course meant traveling the world.

But when we had just moved to our new home, and Tenzin was only a baby in my mother’s arms, and Kya hadn’t even begun to waterbend yet - that was when the Fire Lord visited us.

He brought gifts for all of us children - a fancy teething ring for Tenzin which my mother protested was too nice to let a baby chew on, a pair of dolls for Kya made to look like a little Water Tribe boy and girl, and for me a pai sho set. My father promised to teach me how to play the game.

The friendship between Fire Lord Zuko and Avatar Aang was already becoming the stuff of legend. They had spent the better part of the last decade working closely to found Republic City and transform the old Fire Nation colonies into the new United Republic of Nations, and the camaraderie between them was easy to see in person. But my mother was more distant with our distinguished guest, in a way that only struck me as odd at the end of his visit, when the Fire Lord hugged my father goodbye, and then, after the briefest hesitation, offered my mother a formal bow. Kyoshi Warriors or Air Acolytes, old friends or new acquaintances, my mother hugged everyone. But not him.

Yet what I remember most vividly about that visit is watching the friendly firebending match between the Avatar and the Fire Lord, the first time I saw real, powerful firebending on display. I had never seen my father bend like that before.

* * *

Tenzin was dressed like a proper Air Nomad child, of course, but Kya insisted on wearing blue, as we both had on Kyoshi - as most of the Kyoshi natives did, in spite of their nominal Earth Kingdom affiliation. After the move, I adopted new colors - grey trousers, and a red tunic, similar to the clothes the Air Acolytes wore. There were only a handful of them on the island in those days, but my father was always trying to recruit more, in between meetings with the Council of Nations and the other heads of state.

It was my mother who ended up teaching me to play pai sho. Unlike drawing, I turned out to be quite good at it.

Of course, as soon as Kya had gotten old enough to walk and talk and be aware of what was going on around her, my casual firebending had come to an end, even when my father was away. My mother and I didn’t speak about it much - she always rose early in the morning, to get a head start on the day, and I soon began to feel the call of the rising sun. If we crossed paths in those quiet hours of the early dawn, she might whisper a question about meditation, or a suggestion about breathing techniques - just enough to keep my bending under control, and out of sight. 

My father suggested I join the Air Acolytes for their daily prayers, and I often did, when he was there as well. The air temple was only a small shrine at that point, a square colonnade open to the four winds. I liked the serenity of it, the steady chanting of the mantras. I couldn’t bend outwardly, of course, but as I carefully regulated my breathing in time with the prayers, it made me feel like there was a warmth in my stomach, a secret inner fire that was all mine.

But when my father was away, even just across the bay in Republic City for a council meeting, my mother discouraged me from spending too much time with the acolytes. I think she felt it was dangerous for me to get too spiritual. Perhaps she was afraid it would bring things out that she preferred to stay hidden.

Whatever her reasons, by the time I was thirteen, I had a daily routine. I would wake up, light a candle, and meditate in the privacy of my room, then head outside to watch the last of the sunrise, before retreating to the kitchen to help my mother with breakfast. If my father was around, we would join the acolytes for midday prayers. If not, which was more often, I would repeat the solitary candle meditation before bed. I had some sense, gleaned from my parents’ stories and what I had read, that this was more or less how real firebenders did things.

Even then, I did not consider myself a _ real _ firebender. After all, I was special. Different. Strange.

* * *

There was no one moment when I discovered the truth, no sudden realization. It came to me gradually. But my father had been right about one thing - when I got older, I understood.

To bend fire, you had to have at least one Fire Nation parent. I could bend fire. My mother was Water Tribe. Therefore, my father had to be Fire Nation.

Therefore, Aang was not my father.

It was a distressing understanding to come to. Yet to my mother, the one person I could have talked to, I said nothing. The lies I had been made accomplice to as an unsuspecting child, the burden that had been placed on me to carry in secret, the loneliness of it, the way my own bending now reminded me of my mother’s betrayal to the point that I came to hate it, the sting of Aang’s indifference, knowing he wasn’t even aware of how much I actually deserved it - how could a boy of only fifteen confront his own mother with all that?

So instead, I ran away. Let it never be said that Aang had taught me nothing.

* * *

I did not run very far. In fact, all I did was take the boat to the city. My mother had taken Kya and I there several times, but I had never gone by myself before, let alone without telling anyone where I was going. That made it sufficiently adventurous for my first foray into teenage rebellion.

Republic City was not then a large enough town to really get lost in, but it was bustling enough - so different from the serenity of the island, and yet the anonymity of the crowd was its own kind of relief. I walked the streets without purpose, listening to snatches of conversation and vendors calling out there wares.

A woman in green gossipped with a friend, “I heard the Southern Water Tribe is petitioning to have their own representative on the council, but none of the other nations get two…” 

A boy my own age called out, “Yang’s Noodle Bar, best noodles in town!”

An old man complained to a grocer, “I’m not paying that much, these mangos aren’t even fresh…”

A well-dressed man beckoned to passersby to enter his shop, “Finest tailoring, ladies and gentlemen, right this way, latest fashions from all the nations…” 

Distracted by the garish mannequins in the window of the tailor’s shop, I bumped into someone, spilling the stack of fliers in his arms all of the sidewalk. “Sorry,” I said quickly, stooping down to help him collect the papers. They were advertisements for a bending school.

The man I had bumped into was surprisingly good-natured about it. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a firebending instructor, would you?” he asked as I handed him the last bunch of fliers. He shook the dust off of them and tucked them under his arm.

I panicked, wondering if he was a mind reader. “What makes you think I’m a firebender?”

The man mistook my fear for offense. “Sorry, son, didn’t mean anything by it,” he said with an apologetic bow of his head. “I just thought you might be, with how you were dressed and all…”

I looked down at my red Air Acolyte tunic, realizing for the first time that it would look rather Fire Nation, to an unfamiliar eye. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not a bender.” Then I hastily took my leave of him, making my way down the rest of the street hardly seeing or hearing anything else around me.

The street led me to a park, and I found a secluded spot by a willow tree to sit and collect my thoughts. I sat in a meditative pose, eyes closed, fists pressed together like the acolytes had taught me, and felt the warmth in my stomach - steady, persistent, but firmly contained. I _ wasn’t _ looking for a firebending teacher - I had my bending under control, enough that I wouldn’t accidentally hurt anyone, and that was all that mattered. I didn’t _ want _ to be a real firebender.

So what was I looking for? What did I want?

It was getting late, and I was hungry. I had no money, and the only person I really knew in the city was Toph Beifong, who was the chief of police and a close friend of my parents. I hadn’t thought through this whole running away thing. I wasn’t even free of the secrecy here - I could still bend fire, but I still couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. Perhaps I should just go home and face my family and accept that this was my life.

I opened my eyes, cast a furtive glance around, and when I saw no one else, let a small flame burst to life in my cupped hands, just like I had first shown my mother. I knew now, why she had been upset, what she had been afraid of. If it weren’t for my bending, I might never have known _ her _ secret.

But even unknowing, I would still have been the bastard son of some other father. 

I heard footsteps approaching, and quickly snuffed out the flame. A voice called my name. It was Aang, the last person I wanted to see. I got to my feet. “Hey, Dad,” I greeted him.

Aang gave me a once over glance, then, satisfied I was in one piece, put a hand on my shoulder. “Your mother’s been worried about you,” he said, only a mild scolding. I suppose, to an Air Nomad, my sudden flightiness didn’t seem so unusual. “You should have told her where you were going.”

“Sorry,” I replied, letting him lead me out of the park. “I just needed to...get away for a bit.”

Aang nodded as if he understood. “Next time, at least leave a note.” And that was that. We made the rest of the trip back to the island in silence.

* * *

The Northern Water Tribe was having some difficulty in agreeing on a successor to the childless Chief Arnook, and called on the Avatar to resolve the dispute. This meant Aang was once again not around when I was about to turn sixteen, as he had not been when I had turned fifteen, or twelve, or nine.

I had just finished my morning meditation and joined my mother in the kitchen when she asked me what I wanted for my birthday. Since it was just the two of us - Kya always slept late, and Tenzin had gone with Aang - I gave her a true answer. “My father,” I said, with glib spite.

My mother set the lid on the rice pot and gave me a pointed look. “You know they need him at the North Pole right now,” she chided me.

“What about my real father?” I challenged her. “What’s his excuse?”

My mother’s face fell. She sighed, and smoothed her hands over her skirt. She must have known this day was coming, when I would finally ask. “He doesn’t know,” she said softly. Then she picked up a knife and cutting board, took a seat at the kitchen table, and began slicing pears. Her hands barely shook.

“What?” I asked, leaning on the table across from her. I didn’t mean to loom over her, but I was a good deal taller than she was by then, even when she was standing. In fact, I was already as tall as Aang, and still growing.

“He doesn’t know,” she repeated, her eyes fixed on the fruit she was slicing. The knife made a sharp tapping sound against the cutting board. “I never told him.”

“Were you ever going to tell _ me _?” I asked. She hadn’t even tried to deflect or protest her innocence, not that there would have been much point. I wasn’t a small child anymore. She could no longer hide behind my naïveté.

My mother set the knife down. “I had hoped you wouldn’t want to know,” she admitted, her voice low. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just wanted to forget my mistake, to pretend it had never happened…”

Her _ mistake. _ That was what she called it. Was that what she thought I was, too? I stood up straight, putting more distance between us. “But then I wouldn’t let you forget.”

She opened her eyes, and they were filled with tears. “None of this is your fault, Bumi,” she insisted. “I never blamed you for anything.” In hindsight, I think she meant it. But at the time, I was too angry to believe her, and too well aware of what a good liar my mother was.

I stormed out of the kitchen and back to my room, for the first time feeling like my fire might be in danger of slipping out of my control. I had been angry before, but it was a low, simmering anger, nothing like the desire I now felt to burn something, to let loose the flames and the truth and let them destroy what they would.

But I didn't lose control. Instead, I slammed my bedroom door, then relit my candle. Neither was a satisfying outlet. I found a pen and paper, and sitting down to write I let the words wreak havoc as my fire could not. _ You lied to everyone, I can’t stand the sight of you anymore, I’m leaving, don’t follow me, don’t send Aang after me, I hate you. _

It was certainly not what Aang would have had in mind, but I had taken his advice. This time, when I ran away, I left my mother a note.


	2. Sins of the Father

In Republic City I hired on as a cabin boy on a merchant ship, and made my way down the Earth Kingdom coast in that manner. Many of the towns we stopped in were former Fire Nation colonies, and mixed families were a common sight - earthbenders in red, green-eyed firebenders, even the occasional Water Tribe influence. People came to the old colonies from all over the world, and I could have settled down in any one of those towns with ease and anonymity. But I wasn’t looking to settle yet. When we reached the port near Gaoling and the ship’s captain announced his intention to sail for the Fire Nation, I renewed my contract.

We were halfway to Fire Fountain City when we hit rough seas and the sky began to darken. It was unsettling for me, surrounded by all that water and able to feel the sun behind the clouds, but not see it. But I did my best to go about my duties on deck as the captain tried to navigate us around the worst of the oncoming storm. All cargo needed to be stowed or secured, and sturdy glass lanterns were lit at the bow and stern, and on top of the masthead. I was responsible for keeping the bow light illuminated - with my spark rocks, of course.

Soon the rain was coming down in sheets and we were being tossed by the rolling seas, in spite of the captain’s best efforts. A great wave broke over the portside bow, knocking me off my feet - and dousing the lantern. I heard the deck officer shout to get the light back up, and scrambled forward to the prow, but my spark rocks were hopelessly soaked. After a few futile attempts, I gave in, and pressed the tip of the wick between my thumb and forefinger. A bright yellow flame sprang up instantly.

I climbed down from the prow to find the deck officer watching me. My heart leaped into my throat. He was the first person, besides my mother, to ever see me firebend.

“Should have told us you were a firebender, boy,” he said gruffly. I waited, dreading the rebuke, the punishment, the rejection that was surely coming. “Well, don’t just stand there! Go check the stern light, why dontcha.”

With the storm still raging, there was no time to gawk. I did as I was told - the stern light had also gone out, and all the other deck hands were as soaked as I was, but I got it burning again soon enough, to the surprise of my crewmates. We found clear skies within the hour, and when we were relieved of duty, the deck officer brought me up to the bridge to speak with the captain.

“You should have told us when you signed on, Bumi,” the captain echoed the deck officer’s words when he had been told what I’d done. He was a big man, with close-cropped dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “Firebending is a useful talent, even at sea.”

I hung my head, ashamed of my own secrecy. These people knew nothing about me, I was just another kid from the old colonies to them. “I’m not a real firebender, sir,” I offered by way of an excuse. “I’ve had no training.”

The captain nodded. “No one to teach you, I imagine?”

I thought of the bending school in Republic City, but shook my head. That had never been a real option for me. “My mother’s Water Tribe, sir,” I said instead. That much had always been somewhat obvious from my appearance, even if I didn’t wear blue anymore.

The captain folded his arms over his broad chest. “And your father?”

“He wasn’t really around,” I answered bitterly, and, technically, truthfully, no matter how one looked at it. The captain didn’t question this story, and I let him assume what he liked from the scant details.

“Well, when we reach Fire Fountain City,” the captain said carefully. I was still waiting to hear him say I would be dismissed for lying, but instead he ran a hand thoughtfully over his beard and said, “My brother-in-law runs a firebending school there.”

I blinked up at him in confusion. “Sir?”

“He’s always happy to take students on my recommendation,” the captain explained. “And a trained firebender would be paid more on any vessel than a simple cabin boy.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, almost avuncular. “Something for you to think about.” With that, I was dismissed.

As I lay in my hammock below deck that night, I thought over the captain’s offer. I had long resented the fire inside me, because of what it meant, and because I had to hide it. I had left my family and those problems behind, but the secrecy that my mother had ingrained in me from a young age had proven a difficult habit to break.

Yet why shouldn’t I learn to use it properly? Bumi the kid from the colonies had no siblings to scandalize, no parents’ hearts to break. If I was going to live that life, why not be a  _ real _ firebender?

By the time I stood in the office of Master Genshi’s Firebending School two weeks later, as the captain introduced me, I was confident that I could do this. I would live in the Fire Nation, and study firebending, and find a career that allowed me to use my skills, and I would do it all for myself.

Not, I had convinced myself, because I was holding out hope that somewhere in this nation I might also have a  _ real _ father.

* * *

Fire Fountain City originally took its name from a fire-breathing statue of Fire Lord Ozai that once stood in the main square of the town. By my time, it had been replaced with a dragon statue instead, and from the mouth of this fountain, much more practically, flowed fresh water for public use. Still, the name stuck.

If I was somewhat older than most of Master Genshi’s beginner students, I soon caught up, and after some eight months of intensive training was on track with other kids my own age. It turned out all those years of using my firebending  _ only _ for meditation had given me better than average control, even if I always lagged a little in raw power. 

But we were being trained for peace, not war - Master Genshi expected his students to go on to be blacksmiths, firefighters, glassworkers, and the like - and indeed, that was the sort of work I took up on the side to pay for my education. While we were taught some of the classical combat forms, this was for academic purposes only. One or two students from each class might enlist after graduation, but the Fire Nation armies had been greatly reduced since the end of the war, and merchant marine careers were a safer bet for those so inclined. There were still pirates to worry about, and merchants would pay good money to trained benders who could protect their shipments.

I quickly made friends among my classmates - I even dated a girl in the year ahead of me for a little while, though we broke up when she graduated. The school uniform was a very traditional red and black, of course, but even on my days off, exploring the city with my friends, I dressed mostly in red - not Air Acolyte clothes that could pass for Fire Nation, but real Fire Nation clothes. I used my bending freely and casually - from warming my tea to showing off for some local children to playing pranks on my classmates. There was a memorable incident involving a good friend of mine and an exploding garbage can, though his well-deserved payback left me without eyebrows for a few weeks.

I had always planned on going back to sea when I finished my training. There was a sort of standing offer from my first captain to rejoin his crew when I was ready - so I was surprised when Master Genshi called me into his office and asked if I had considered enlisting in the Fire Navy.

“To be honest, sir,” I told him. “I didn’t think I was good enough.”

Master Genshi shook his head. “You’re a hard worker, Bumi, and disciplined, and that’s what the navy really cares about.” Folding his hands on his desk, he leaned forward slightly, and gave me a steady look that had me shifting in my seat. “And there’s something different about your bending…” Again I shifted uncomfortably, but he only went on, “You’re more in tune with your inner fire than any other student I’ve taught. I’ll be honest, I don’t think a naval career is right for you long-term, but,” here he reached down and opened a desk drawer, pulling out a stack of pamphlets, “if you put in your two years you’ll be eligible for the great schools.”

“The great schools?” I repeated. I had heard of them, of course, but they were highly exclusive. Nobles sent their children to learn firebending at those schools. I doubted they accepted many graduates from such a plebian institution as Master Genshi’s.

Master Genshi gave me a hint of a smile, as if he knew what I was thinking. “Oh yes, it’s possible, even for a kid from the colonies like you.” He laid the pamphlets out on his desk one by one, rattling off the names of the schools. “Meidai, Keio, even the Royal Academy...they all have veterans’ scholarships. If you prove yourself in the navy, they could teach you other styles of bending, more about the spiritual and theoretical side of it.” He slapped one hand open-palmed on the spread of brochures for the elite schools for emphasis. “ _ That’s  _ where I think your future really is.”

I thought of midday prayers with the Air Acolytes, and how right that had always felt, even when nothing else about my home life made sense. The spiritual side of my bending had been the first part I had really developed, as much as I could have developed any of it living under my mother’s rules of secrecy.

I promised Master Genshi I would think about it.

* * *

By my eighteenth birthday, two months before I was scheduled to graduate, I still hadn’t made up my mind. But that was when my mother found me. I came back to the dingy little student apartment I lived in after class, and there she was, sitting on the worn out sofa in my living room. She leapt to her feet to greet me.

“Bumi, please,” she said after the requisite hugging and crying. I was surprisingly moved to see her - my anger had had some time to cool, and it spoke volumes that she had actually come all this way, left the rest of the family behind to find me. And she was still my mother, the only person who knew both sides of who I was. “Please come home.”

“I’m sorry about the note, Mom,” I said honestly. I didn’t really hate her, and regretted writing that in anger. “But I can’t just go back. I want to finish school here.” I hadn’t said outright that it was a firebending school I was enrolled in, but I think she suspected as much. “And then, I don’t know, I was thinking about joining the navy.”

Still holding on to both of my hands, my mother gave me a strange look. I think she had never seen me as the military type, but I wasn’t eager to explain my real motives to her just then. “If that’s really what you want,” she said gently, “the United Republic has its own naval force now…”

“And it’s based out of Republic City?” I guessed. My mother didn’t contradict me. We both knew what she wanted. I shook my head. Enough lies and half-truths. “I want to enlist in the Fire Navy, as a firebender. If I joined the United Republic forces, could I do that?”

My mother said nothing. I pulled my hands out of her grip.

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “I’m staying here.”

My mother tried a different tactic. “We’ve had no word from you, all this time,” she reminded me. Not for the first time, I felt a stab of guilt about that. But if I had written to my family, what could I have said to them?

“It’s not my fault this part of my life has to be a secret,” I pointed out impatiently. The happiness of seeing my mother again was rapidly being eclipsed by the bitterness of all the reasons I had left in the first place, and her efforts to entice me back were not helping.

My mother flinched at the accusation, but didn’t argue. “I know,” she admitted. “But it’s been two years now. Even your father is starting to worry…”

And there it was, the real reason she was here. She had come all this way, left Kya and Tenzin behind, she who hardly ever traveled anymore and hated being separated from her family, not to see me, but to keep her husband from worrying, lest that can of worms be opened.

“What makes you think,” I said darkly, “that if I went back with you, I wouldn’t give  _ Aang _ more reasons to worry than if I stayed away?”

My mother’s eyes went wide, as afraid as the day she had first seen me bend. All these years keeping her secret, I had never once used it to threaten her like that. “You wouldn’t,” she said, her voice low and pleading. “I know you wouldn’t.”

She was right, but I didn’t want to admit that. “As for  _ my father,” _ I went on, all the pent up anger and pain rising to the surface. “I doubt  _ he’s _ worried about me at all, since he doesn’t even know I exist!”

My mother raised her chin. “He knows you ran away,” she said, and this unexpected news cast my ire into confusion. “Aang spoke to Zuko about it, though neither of them knows why you left, and he  _ is _ worried about you, too.” She reached out for me again, though I pulled away, and she reluctantly let her hand fall back to her side. “He’s the one who helped us find you,” she added softly.

Reeling, I sat down heavily on the sofa. “Zuko?” I repeated, thinking I must have misunderstood her. The Fire Lord, the Avatar’s best friend...surely he couldn’t be… “Fire Lord Zuko?” I said, as if hoping she meant someone else. She didn’t contradict me. I leaned on my knees, holding my head in my hands.

My mother sat down next to me, resting one hand on my back. I didn’t push her away this time. “I thought you had figured that out,” she said gently.

I let out a hollow laugh. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have said anything, right?” What business was it of mine, who my father was? What right did I have to any more of her secrets than what fate had made it impossible for her to keep from me?

“No,” my mother protested, leaning in to hug me again, her cheek resting against my shoulder. “No, I should have told you before...well, before it got to this point.”

I didn’t even know what this point was. The tentative plans I had made for my future seemed to pale in comparison to this new revelation. How could I just go on with my life, now that I knew?

“I want to see him,” I said suddenly, lifting my head. My mother pulled away slightly, but left her hand on my back. “Zuko. I want to talk to him.” Bumi from the colonies could hardly demand an audience with the Fire Lord, but I knew my mother could make it happen. After all, she was married to the Avatar, and they were all such  _ old friends… _

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my mother said carefully. 

“If you won’t help me, I’ll find a way on my own,” I declared, getting to my feet. “I don’t care who I have to tell the truth, I’ll do it.” It was the second time I had threatened my mother, just as much of a bluff as the first, but it clearly hurt her. So be it. She had hurt me.

She closed her eyes, and let out a pained sigh. “Fine,” she gave in. “I’ll write to Zuko and let him know I found you, and that you’re coming to see him.” She opened her eyes and got to her feet as well. “Now, what am I going to tell Aang?”

“That’s your business, Mom,” I replied, with even less intention of going home with her than before. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

* * *

I did in fact finish school, and submitted my Fire Navy application, before I made the trip to the capital, where the Fire Lord was expecting me. My mother had gone back to Republic City, presumably to continue spinning her web of lies to the rest of the family, and to be honest I was relieved she hadn’t tried to come with me. I had met Zuko once before of course, but this time was different. This time I would be meeting my father, and I wanted it to be on my terms.

In hindsight, I don’t think my mother could face him anymore.

The morning I arrived, the Fire Lord was busy meeting with his ministers of state, though Princess Izumi graciously offered to entertain me while I waited for him. Since the Fire Lady’s passing, the role of palace hostess had fallen to Zuko’s daughter. My sister. She was fourteen, three years older than Kya, and of course I couldn’t help but compare the timelines of our lives, and realize that Zuko hadn’t married until after I was born. Why that might have been, I didn’t want to contemplate.

Izumi led me through the gardens, which looked remarkably like the park in Republic City. I said as much, and she smiled. “Well, my father had a hand in designing that park, you know,” she said proudly.

“I had no idea,” I admitted.

“My father is such good friends with yours,” she went on, and I fought to hide a grimace. “It’s strange our families never spent any time together.”

It didn’t seem so strange to me. “Well, they’re busy people,” I deflected. “And my mother doesn’t like to travel much.”

We came to a halt in front of a pond, where a pair of turtle ducks were paddling about idly. Izumi gave me a funny look. “But your mother traveled all over the world, when she was younger,” she pointed out.

“She did,” I agreed. It was something I had wondered about as well, though it ranked fairly low on my list of things I wished my mother had explained to me. “I guess that was during the war, and now she’s done with it.”

Izumi nodded, and started to say something else, but her gaze darted over my shoulder and she smiled. I turned to see who she was looking at. It was her father, and mine.

Zuko did not have a soft face, even if you could ignore the scar. His features were angular and his sharp jawline was accentuated by the pointed beard. But the look on his face was soft, so tender and full of paternal affection. It took my breath away for a moment. He was looking at Izumi, of course.

Zuko greeted his daughter first, with a kiss on the cheek. Izumi rolled her eyes at this display, and proceeded to introduce me. “Dad, you know Bumi, of course.”

I got a friendly clap on the shoulder, something like when the captain of the ship had taken pity on me as a cabin boy. “Of course,” Zuko repeated. “You’ve sure grown since I last saw you!” That had been seven years ago. He and I were the same height now. Still holding me by the shoulder, he wagged one finger at me with his other hand, scolding. “You know you had your parents very worried, young man.”

Overwhelmed, I fell back on formality. “Fire Lord Zuko,” I said, inclining my head respectfully. “I would like to give you a full account of my actions.” I glanced guiltily at Izumi. “In private.”

Zuko let his hand fall from my shoulder and nodded to his daughter, who took her leave of us. “I’m listening,” Zuko said encouragingly. For the first time, I had my father’s undivided attention.

I looked him in the eye, and took a deep breath. Better to just be out with it. “I…” One of the turtle ducks quacked. I lost my nerve. “I had to leave home, to figure some things out,” I said instead. “I needed some space, away from...well, from everyone.” I didn’t want to single my mother out, even if my anger at her had been the final straw that had driven me away. Mentioning her at all suddenly seemed a daunting task.

Zuko didn’t seem impressed with this explanation. “You should have at least written to your parents,” he pointed out.

I shook my head at the absurd normalcy of it, getting the same lecture from my father that my mother had already given me. I offered much the same excuse in reply. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Zuko folded his arms, hands tucked into the rich sleeves of his formal robes, and looked down at the pond pensively. “Sometimes it isn’t easy, to face up to your family,” he said in a gentler tone. “But you should always at least make an effort.”

“I know. I want to try.” I swallowed nervously. “I’m trying right now.”

Zuko gave me a cautious look. “What are you trying to do right now?”

“I’m trying to tell you what I couldn’t tell them,” I said. Zuko waited, patiently, and I launched into a rambling explanation. “I couldn’t tell them that I left because there were so many secrets, and it was driving me crazy. That when I came to the Fire Nation, it was such a relief not to have to hide anymore.” 

If Zuko had any suspicions as to what I might have been hiding, or why I would want to talk about it with him of all people, he didn’t show it. I was standing there in front of him, dressed in Fire Nation clothes, prattling on about secrets in my family - couldn’t he guess?

But in the face of his placid silence, I had no choice but to continue. “I couldn’t let my...my family know where I was or what I was doing, because they wouldn’t understand,” I went on, echoing my mother’s warning with no small amount of bitterness. I held both my hands clenched into fists in front of me, and my voice rose gradually. “ _ I _ still don’t understand, but I know that I  _ am _ a firebender and I used to be ashamed of it but I’m not anymore, and what I’m trying to say is, I am your  _ son _ and  _ how could you not have known?” _

There was a burst of flame around both of my trembling fists as I shouted this last question at him - harmless, but enough to forestall any doubt. I hadn’t done it deliberately. It was an emotional outburst, the only time I had ever lost control.

Zuko did not look scared, like my mother had. His calm was finally shattered by the shock of seeing me firebend, but once that faded, he looked...broken. My mother had often been sad, but this was something worse. Zuko actually looked like he might cry. “I didn’t know,” he protested weakly. When I said nothing, he came closer, and took my face in both of his hands, eyes searching, perhaps, for the resemblance. It was subtle, but there was some. “I need you to understand that much, Bumi,” he said firmly. “I did not know.”

That was all very well, what  _ he _ needed. “You never bothered to find out, did you?” I said, losing the fight with my own tears. My mother had never told him, of course, but I doubted he had ever asked, either. He had to have at least known it was a possibility.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Zuko admitted. With one thumb, he brushed aside the first tear that fell, but that only made me cry more. “And I am sorry for that.”

My mother, I realized, had never apologized to me. But even from my father, it felt like too little, too late. So much for his talk of making the effort for family. I knew my mother hadn’t wanted me to be Zuko’s son. Of course Zuko hadn't, either.

“Well, you know now,” I said accusingly. “What are you going to do about it?”

Zuko pulled me close, so my head rested on his shoulder. I let him hold me, but I didn’t return the hug. I was still too angry at him.

* * *

Naturally, what Zuko was going to do about me was far more complicated than could have been worked out with a hug, anyway.

It had been assumed that I would stay at the palace for several days, at least, as a friend of the royal family, and changing those plans now would seem suspicious. Since I was once again, as far as the royal court was concerned, Bumi the son of the Avatar, rather than Bumi the kid from the colonies, that meant my bending had to be kept discrete - though Zuko, eager to see what I had learned, brought me to his own private training room on the second day of my visit, so I could give an unobserved demonstration.

“You’ve accomplished so much,” he said when I had concluded the basic katas I knew with the traditional bow, hand over fist. “I’m proud of you.”

I shrugged off his praise with roughly affected indifference, knowing my skills were not really that impressive. Flattery didn’t make up for any of my shortcomings, and it certainly didn't for his, no matter how much I wanted those words to be true. It was all I had wanted since I was six years old, for my father to be proud of my bending. But I was used to living without it.

Then there was Izumi. Zuko wanted to tell her the truth as well. I pointed out that doing so would only be forcing her to keep the same secret I had been burdened with all these years. Surely he didn’t want to put that on his daughter.

The idea of ending the secrecy was too impossible for either of us to mention. I was hardly the first child ever born of a Fire Lord’s indiscretion, but my mother being the wife of the Avatar made the situation politically fraught. On the personal level there was the issue that Aang was still unaware, unless my mother had had a change of heart since I last spoke to her - a situation that I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with, but still felt powerless to change. At any rate, the Fire Lord publicly acknowledging me as his illegitimate son was not the right way for Aang to find out.

Yet Zuko insisted Izumi at least had a right to know she had a brother. He was quite close with his own half-sister, whom he owed to very different but equally complicated circumstances which I would learn about later on, and I think that must have influenced his decision. Zuko spoke to his daughter in private on the third day of my visit, and immediately after she came and found me. 

I was in the sitting room of my guest apartments, reading some scrolls I had found in the palace library about the Sun Warriors. Their ancient customs fascinated me, and rekindled my desire to continue my firebending studies at one of the great schools someday. I was still waiting to hear back on my naval application, but the recruiter I had spoken to back in Fire Fountain City had seemed optimistic about my chances.

But when I saw the scowl on Izumi’s face, I quickly set my reading down. “He told you,” I guessed, wishing Zuko had taken my advice. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry at  _ you,”  _ my sister replied. Then, to my surprise, she came and sat next to me on the sofa, collapsing back into the cushions in a rather undignified way. It was a stark contrast with the ladylike decorum she had maintained at our first meeting. “So, are you going to challenge me to an Agni Kai for the crown or something?”

I blanched, shifting around to face her more directly. “Of course not!” I protested. I hadn’t come here looking to mess up her life, or take anything away from her. “I have no interest in being Fire Lord, ever.” I didn’t think it would even be legal, what with me being a bastard, but presumed she would know the finer points of the laws of succession better than I did.

“That’s too bad,” Izumi said casually, kicking her feet up on the low table. I snatched the library scrolls out of the way just in time. “Might have been nice, to have some of the pressure off me.”

I was unused to her sense of humor. I didn’t really know her at all, of course. But now that she was in on the secret, as much as I regretted the pain that would cause her...well, at least I could talk to her without having to worry about hiding anything.

“If all goes well,” I said, rolling up the last scroll I had been looking at. “I’ll soon be too busy as a lowly tar in the navy to worry about affairs of state.” I gave her a tentative half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Izumi gave me a searching look. “So your ambitions are military rather than political?”

“Well,” I said, setting aside the scroll again, far away from her feet. “I was told navy service would be a good way for me to get into one of the great schools.”

“Oh,” Izumi replied. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? Dad could get you into any school you want.”

Dad. As in, the father we shared. She said it so easily.

I slouched against the couch cushions, imitating her posture. “I don’t want him to do me any favors,” I insisted. “And besides, no one can know I’m his son.” I gave her a nervous sideways glance. “He did tell you that, right?”

“He did,” Izumi confirmed, scowling again. “Which I think is completely unfair and hypocritical of him, by the way.” I shrugged, but didn’t argue, even though I had been more insistent on the secrecy than Zuko had. “But,” Izumi went on, “he could still help you out without giving that away.”

Idly, I conjurined a small flame in my right hand, spun it into something like a cord with a flick of my wrist, and wove the fiery tendril in and out of my fingers. “I want to earn it myself,” I said quietly. Otherwise, I’d never be sure if I really deserved it.

Izumi was watching me bend with interest, so I coiled the little rope of fire into a ball in my palm, then tossed it gently in the air and made it burst like a firework. It was a parlor trick I’d come up with that was a hit at parties, though it had little practical application.

“Wow,” Izumi breathed as the gold sparks faded from the air. Moving her feet off the table and back to the floor, she sat up straight. “Think you could teach me how to do that?”

I obliged, showing her the trick again slowly, describing how it was done as best as I could. But while Izumi was able to form the little fire rope after a few attempts, it would collapse back into amorphous flame as soon as she tried to do anything with it.

“Sorry,” I said yet again as she huffed in frustration at yet another failure. “I guess I’m not the greatest teacher.”

“No, I’m sure I just need more practice,” Izumi insisted with a self-deprecating eyeroll. Then she fixed me with a mockingly stern look. “Speaking of which, even if you won’t fight me for the crown, you’re not getting out of here without sparring with me at least once.”

I laughed at her enthusiasm. “I don’t think you’d find it much of a challenge to beat me.” She was four years younger than me, it was true, but as a princess of the Fire Nation and heir presumptive, she would have been instructed in all the classical firebending forms from a young age, whereas I had less than two years of provincial schooling.

“Only one way to find out,” Izumi replied.

We faced off the next morning, in the private training room. Neither of us had felt compelled to inform Zuko of our little friendly contest, so we had no audience. Izumi didn’t have quite the upper hand I had expected - her bending was far more powerful than mine, but her form was still clumsy at times. I began to suspect her comment about needing more practice was only echoing something her tutors must have told her constantly. It might have been nice to have some of the pressure off her, she had said.

But she still beat me in the end.

“Not bad, brother,” she said as she helped me to my feet. We were both breathing hard from the exercise, but sporting matching grins. “I’m sure you’ll do better once the navy toughens you up.”

“So you’d be up for it if I came back for a rematch, then?” I asked, playing along with her game, but also wondering in earnest. I would be heading back to Fire Fountain City soon, where I expected I would find the navy recruiter ready to formally enlist me, and when, if ever, I would be able to return to the palace was far from a settled question.

“You’d better,” Izumi shot back. “How else am I going to show you when I get the hang of the firework trick?”

I laughed, and pulled my sister into a one-armed hug. She pulled a face, as I would learn she always did at such open affection, but not because she was truly annoyed by it. “I can’t wait to see that.”

* * *

I had one last private talk with Zuko before I left, in his office this time. Izumi and I had both been somewhat avoiding him, finding it easier to spend time with each other and deal with the awkwardness of our newfound sibling relationship than to put aside our anger at our father. After all, neither of us were to blame for this situation, and on my part I felt I had learned all I needed to know. He might have been slightly less keen on lying than my mother, but I was just as much of an inconvenience, just as much of a potential humiliation to Zuko as I was to her.

When he asked what I was planning to do next, I finally told him about the navy and my aspirations of pursuing further studies. He made the exact offer Izumi had said he would - I could skip the navy and go straight to the Royal Academy on his recommendation - but I dismissed it just as firmly. At the time I thought he was relieved I had said no to the offer, which obviously would have risked someone making connections we didn’t want made. But maybe he was only unsurprised at my desire to prove myself.

“I do think,” he added, “that you should go back to Republic City before you ship out.” He was pacing the length of his office while I sat stiffly in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “They really have been very worried, and it would do them good to see you.” He gave me another one of his looks full of guilt, which I was getting tired of. “Your mother and...Aang,” he added as unnecessary clarification.

The whole length of my stay, we had hardly talked about my mother.

“She won’t want to let me leave,” I complained. “She wants to keep me hidden away on that island for the rest of my life.” An exaggeration, and I even knew it at the time, but I hadn’t forgotten that my mother had been the one to decide, on everyone else’s behalf, that my bending should be a secret, and I hadn’t forgiven her for it, either, even as I still deferred at least in part to her decision.

“I imagine she only wants to protect you,” Zuko replied, then added, wistfully, “Mothers are like that with their children.”

“And fathers?” I asked.

Zuko halted his pacing, right in front of my chair. He had refrained from touching me since that first hug, which I had tacitly rejected, but now he reached out and brushed one hand against the right side of my face. “Fathers, too,” he said. I turned my head aside, away from his touch, my face set like stone.

“I don’t say this as an excuse,” Zuko went on, his voice soft. “But one reason I never asked any questions was because I thought…” He hesitated, turned and took a few steps away from me. I watched his retreat, saw him straighten his back deliberately before he continued. “I thought that either way, you already had the best father you could want, and I had no right to take that from you.”

I knew at that point, in broad strokes, what Zuko’s relationship with his own father had been like. How the Fire Lord got his scar was certainly common knowledge. So I knew that whatever neglect I felt I had suffered from Aang was a far cry from the worst thing in the world. Still, I thought, Zuko had no idea what it had been like, if he had really believed what he said. But I hardly wanted to speak ill of Aang to him now.

“What about the truth?” I asked. “Did you think I had any right to that?”

Zuko sighed. “The truth of who my father was disappointed me once,” he said, turning to face me again. “I’m sorry it’s done the same for you.”

It was a less profound apology than the first one, but that was probably why I found it easier to accept. I couldn’t forgive everything all at once, but I was willing to take small steps. I met my father’s eye. “I am glad I came here,” I told him. And since I had already as good as promised Izumi I would return, I added, “This won’t be my last visit.”

I think Zuko knew that it wasn’t really for his sake that I would come back, but it was enough just that I would. His face went soft again, almost like when I had first seen him in the garden, except there was still some pain, some regret to it. But this time the look was all for me.

Still, I left the capital feeling unsatisfied.


	3. Excuses

It was an adjustment to go back to my shabby apartment in Fire Fountain City after staying at the royal palace, but I knew I couldn’t get too used to luxury if I was serious about enlisting in the navy. And sure enough, when I paid another visit to the recruiter’s office, he had the papers already drawn up for me to sign. I had six weeks to set my affairs in order before I was to report to the naval base on the southern coast of the main island for basic training.

I settled up with my landlord, said my goodbyes to my friends in the city, and stopped in to see Master Genshi one last time and thank him for his encouragement. That all took one week. Then I hired on board a ship as a temporary hand once again, this time headed for Republic City. In another week, I was back home.

To say my family was happy to see me would be an understatement. My mother was practically beside herself, and Kya threw herself into my arms as soon as I set foot on the island. She was eleven now, and so much bigger than when I had left two years ago, though she still had her round baby face. Tenzin was more shy - he’d only been five the last time I had seen him, and was now very solemn for a seven-year-old. 

I realized with some guilt of my own how much of my little siblings’ lives I had missed out on, and tried to make up for it as much as I could by playing the fun older brother while I was home. I played airball with Tenzin even though there was no way I could keep up with him, I let Kya talk my ear off about the trip she had taken to the south pole with our mother, and I brought them both into the city to visit the newly opened zoo.

It was good to spend time with Kya and Tenzin again. But I still had to hide so much from them - my mother had told them where I had gone, but not what I had been doing there, of course. It made me miss Izumi, with whom at least I didn’t have to lie.

As for Aang, he seemed to have taken my running away so well in stride that I began to wonder if my mother hadn’t misrepresented how concerned he was. He knew my mother had found me living in the Fire Nation, but not what I had been doing there. Yet he didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary about my running away, or require any further explanation.

“You know, I ran away from home when I was younger than you,” Aang told me on the first day I was back, as I helped him sweep the leaves out of the open colonnade that had by now been replaced by a more formal temple structure, though it was still used by some of the Air Acolytes for meditation. “And I wound up being gone for a lot longer than two years!”

“I know the story, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes at his attempted humor. 

“Of course,” he went on innocently, gathering a neat pile of leaves with his broom and then blowing them all out of the little temple with a blast of airbending. “If I hadn’t been frozen inside an iceberg, I probably would have written a letter or two in that century.”

I sighed in frustration. Three for three. “I already had this conversation with Mom,” I complained. “And with Zuko,” I added recklessly, because after all Aang knew I had visited him. Without airbending, I had to clear the leaves away using only the broom, which I now did vigorously. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just...really confused.”

I stopped sweeping, and turned to look at Aang, who had done the same. I held his gaze, silently daring him to ask what I was so confused about, to take some interest just for once…

“Well, it’s natural to need some space at your age,” he said. I turned away, and went back to the leaves. “I know being the only nonbender in the family can’t have been easy for you. But we’re all glad to have you back now.”

I swept a pile of leaves outside with more force than necessary. “You know it’s temporary,” I reminded him. I’d made no secret of the fact that I had enlisted in the Fire Navy, since they recruited benders and nonbenders alike. If Aang found it strange that I had chosen that over the United Republic forces, he didn’t comment on it.

“Everything in life is temporary,” he replied philosophically. “It’s still good to see you.”

Furtively, I glanced over my shoulder. Aang had resumed sweeping as well, his back to me. “It’s good to see you, too, Dad,” I said quietly.

“I could be mistaken,” Aang said in the same bright tone with which he’d started the conversation, leaving me wondering if he’d even heard me. “But I think the Fire Navy does allow their sailors to write letters to their families.”

I let out a chuckle at his persistence. “Alright,” I relented. “I get it. I’ll write home in the future, I promise.”

“Good,” Aang said, flashing me a grin over his shoulder before airbending the last few leaves out of the temple. Hands on his hips, he surveyed our work, then gave a satisfied nod. “Your mother would kill me if I didn’t get that much out of you.”

To that, I had nothing to say.

* * *

Out of everyone, my mother was the one I had the most conflicting feelings about. It was hard not to blame her - she had lied to Aang, and to Zuko, and would have lied to me if she could have gotten away with it. She and Zuko might have been equally to blame for their initial transgression - of which I remained mercifully unaware of the details, aside from an awkward assurance from my mother that it had only happened once - but she had certainly taken the lead in making things worse ever since.

Yet at the same time, I understood. Family meant so much to her, and the truth had the power to ruin everything. Only, I was beginning to suspect it was doing that even without anyone finding out.

“So you went back to the south pole,” I asked casually one morning. I’d fallen back into my old routine, including helping my mother prepare breakfast, which she had been delighted about. “I didn’t think you traveled anymore, apart from chasing down wayward sons.”

My mother smiled at me over the pastry dough she was rolling out while I chopped the fruit and nuts for the filling. “Well, I wanted to see how they’re getting on there, and you know, my father isn’t as young as he used to be.” She shrugged, set the rolling pin aside, and picked up a knife. “It was good for your sister, too.”

“Yeah, I heard all about it,” I replied, scraping the last of the chopped nuts into the bowl. “It sounds like she had the time of her life.” I added some honey to the fruit and nuts and stirred the mixture together. “I hope Tenzin didn’t feel left out, not getting to see Grampa.”

My mother paused in the process of cutting the dough into squares. “You know how it is,” she said quietly, not meeting my eye. “Tenzin does so much with your...with Aang. I know he would have loved to come, but Kya needed a trip that was just hers.” She set the knife down, looked up at the ceiling, and took a quick, deep breath. “And I needed…” But she couldn’t finish that thought.

“Mom,” I said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Her tears broke through in spite of her efforts, and I stepped around the table to hold her properly. I had known my mother’s secrets weighed heavily on her, that she was often sad and couldn’t let anyone see. I had thought that things would have been easier for her, with me out of the way, no longer a constant reminder. For the first time I began to realize that maybe I wasn’t the source of all her unhappiness in her marriage. Kya and I weren’t the only ones Aang had repeatedly left behind, after all.

My mother composed herself quickly. “I told you,” she said, wiping away the last of her tears. “I never blamed you for anything.” She reached up and took hold of my face in both hands, just like Zuko had done. “My mistakes are not your fault,” she insisted. “And you are not a mistake.”

This time, I believed her. And I thought, maybe, at last she would be ready. “Mom,” I said carefully. “I think you should tell Aang the truth.”

But my mother shook her head, pulled away from me, and went back to slicing the pastry dough. “I can’t,” she said firmly. “Tenzin is still so little, and even Kya...I can’t do that to them.”

“You can’t keep going like this, Mom,” I told her. I didn’t doubt her concern for my siblings - mothers were like that with their children, after all. Undoubtedly Aang learning the truth would disrupt their lives as well, potentially shatter the family. But couldn’t she see how much the family was already falling apart? “I ran away because the secrets were too much for me,” I reminded her. “What are they doing to you?”

“Bumi,” my mother said, meeting my eyes resolutely. “I can’t.” Then she gestured with the pastry knife towards the bowl of filling I had prepared. The message was clear: conversation over.

Obedently, I took up my place at the kitchen table again, and began spooning the filling into the pastry squares as she cut them. But I was not content to leave things there. “Someday you’re going to have to,” I said darkly, under my breath.

My mother didn’t acknowledge it.

* * *

After two and a half weeks, it was time for me to leave again. I said proper goodbyes this time, hugged everyone, and renewed my promise to write. Kya and Tenzin were the hardest for me to leave behind, especially Kya. She looked so resigned, so used to it. I wondered if someday she would run away, too, for her own reasons.

Basic training was grueling, and the one advantage of this was I had no energy left to be homesick, to miss anyone. True to Master Genshi’s predictions, if I couldn’t produce as big of a fireball as some of my fellow recruits, this was tolerated on account of my greater accuracy, and I stubbornly kept at any challenge set to me until I had met it. I couldn’t help but think of Izumi, insisting she just needed more practice, and that the navy would toughen me up.

I was posted on a cruiser which was deployed to patrol the Fire Nation’s southern waters, and assigned to catapult duty. This meant I was responsible for cleaning, inspecting, and even repairing the catapult more often than firing it, since this was after all still peace time, but that suited me just fine. It was better than working in the engine room, and I had no dreams of winning fame or glory in combat.

It was around this time, however, that I did start having dreams of a different sort. They were vague, sometimes featuring dragons, or Sun Warriors, or even once I think Sozin’s comet, but always ended the same way - with me fleeing some danger or chaos to a dark room, and standing before a large-than-life Avatar Roku. What that might mean, if anything, I was unable to guess, but I did know that Roku was an ancestor of the current Fire Lord - and therefore, my ancestor as well.

Though spirituality was not as predominant in the Fire Nation as it had once been - and certainly not as it had been for the Air Nomads in their heyday - the ship did have a small shrine on board, where off-duty sailors could go to pray or meditate. I sought it out frequently, though it was quite different from the little air temple I had grown up with. Dark, closed in, the air heavy with incense that burned piously before an image of the Flame of Agni, it unfortunately lacked even silence, as the noise of the ship’s engines was essentially inescapable. But I liked it there.

My crewmates soon nicknamed me the Monk, both because of how much time I spent before that shrine, and because of my forbearance with the girls in any given port we stopped in. This was highly unusual behavior for a sailor, of course, but what was I to do? I knew only too well the potential consequences of such indulgences, and it was not a risk I was willing to take.

What I did like to do in each port was visit the local shrines and temples, which of course contributed to my reputation. But they fascinated me - Agni was reserved a special honor everywhere, but each island in the Fire Nation had its own collection of patron spirits, and which ones would be found in the local shrines could vary greatly even from town to town. Some places even had temples to honor past Fire Nation Avatars - though our ship’s voyage never took us anywhere near Crescent Island, where Roku’s shrine was located at the principal Avatar temple.

The other thing I always made a point to visit was the post office. To my family in Republic City, I wrote letters that were carefully edited to omit any reference to firebending as part of my duties, and sometimes sent little gifts for Kya and Tenzin as well - Fire Nation ginger candies, postcards of whatever temple I had last visited, little toy dragons, anything to let them know their big brother hadn’t forgotten them.

To my other sister, I wrote slightly more candid letters about life aboard ship, and my progress with firebending - I was getting better, just from keeping up with the navy training regimine - and though I knew it was silly, since Izumi lived in a palace and had everything she could want materially, I also sent her gifts of much the same sort as the ones Kya and Tenzin received. It seemed only fair.

I did not write to Zuko, nor to my mother directly. That was still too much.

* * *

I was amazed how quickly my two year tour of duty passed, but before I knew it, I was filling out the application for the veterans’ scholarship at the Royal Academy of Firebending. Twenty years old, with a distinguished service record and a reputation for upstanding conduct, I was in many ways the model candidate for the program, my hard-earned rise from humble origins in the former colonies just the sort of wholesome story that would let the elite school administration feel good about themselves for giving me a chance. If this story was less than the full truth, I still felt better about it than I would have about taking a spot at the school because the Fire Lord had made them accept his bastard son.

The choice of the Royal Academy over the other great schools was made for several reasons. Primarily, because they had the nation’s most respected training program for fire sages, which I had come to suspect during all those visits to various temples was my true calling. The secondary reason was that the school was located in the Fire Nation capital, and I still owed Izumi that rematch. Another, smaller consideration, certainly not a deciding factor but something I considered nonetheless, was that, unlike the other great schools which offered programs of study in history or philosophy that nonbenders could pursue, the Royal Academy only admitted firebenders.

If I was enrolled there, and my mother didn’t want me to have to cut off all contact again, she would have to tell Aang the truth.

I didn’t like the idea of forcing my mother’s hand, even now. But from Kya’s replies to my letters, I could tell that even my thirteen-year-old sister was starting to see the cracks in the façade. Not that I think she ever suspected the truth about me, but she certainly knew that my mother was unhappy, that there was a growing distance between her parents, and that Aang was at a loss as to what to do about it. Tenzin seemed to be the only one who remained totally, blissfully unaware that anything was wrong.

I knew the truth would make things worse. But I thought, maybe they had to get worse before they could get better. There was no way for my mother to solve a problem she wouldn’t even speak of.

There was another person would would be affected by this, though, and while that was his own fault, I still begrudgingly recognized that Zuko deserved some warning. So I returned to the palace over two years after I had last seen him, with the Royal Academy acceptance letter in hand. Admittedly, it felt good to have that, to show that I really had been able to do it without his help.

I hadn’t expected that when I showed him the letter, Zuko would tell me again that he was proud of me.

“You know what this means,” I replied, deliberately ignoring his declaration of pride and how much I wanted to believe it. “If I go to the Royal Academy…”

“Aang will have to know you’re a firebender,” Zuko finished for me. “And all the rest follows.” We were in his office again, though this time Zuko was seated behind his desk. He refolded the acceptance letter and handed it back to me. “It’s past time for that, anyway,” he added resignedly. “I have not liked keeping this from him.”

I knew the only reason he had was because he felt, as I did, that my mother should be the one to tell Aang. Still, Zuko would have seen Aang more often than I had in the last two years. The Avatar and the Fire Lord met at least twice annually to discuss business relating to the United Republic of Nations and its transition to full sovereign independence from the Fire Nation. I knew the process was nearing completion, but the last few meetings couldn’t have been easy for Zuko. But again, he had himself to blame for that, and I was largely unsympathetic.

“It won’t ruin things for the United Republic, will it?” I asked. If Aang and Zuko never spoke again, I could live with the end of their friendship, but I didn’t want the collapse of an entire country on my head. “I could still turn the academy down, and apply to another school…”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Zuko reassured me. “I may have to withdraw my...personal involvement, but the United Republic will be able to stand without me.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he steepled his fingers together. “The more important question for us to discuss is how this will affect  _ you.” _

I shrugged, not seeing how it would make much difference in my life. Sure, it would change how Aang saw me, but… “It’s not like Aang and I are close anyway,” I said with less concern than I really felt. That indifference was an old wound, one that I should have been used to by now.

Zuko frowned, looking like he wanted to say something about that. Thankfully, he did not - I didn’t really want to discuss my relationship with Aang with him. Instead, Zuko said, “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the double life you’ve been living.”

“Oh,” I replied, sitting back in my chair a little. “I hadn’t thought that would change.” I wanted to stop lying to Kya and Tenzin, of course, and I wanted my mother and Aang to be able to confront the truth for their own sake, but I didn’t want to embarrass my mother publicly. I could keep pretending to be Bumi from the colonies, to protect her, as long as our family was all on the same page.

“Bumi,” Zuko said firmly. “All this secrecy hasn’t been fair to anyone, but least of all to you. Your mother…” He paused over the usual awkwardness between us, whenever the subject of my mother came up, but then pressed on. “Your mother should never have asked that of you.”

He was right, and I had often thought the same thing myself. But who was he to criticize the choices he had effectively abandoned her to make on her own? If he had wanted a say in how his son was raised, he should have done something about it a lot sooner. “Can you blame her,” I said darkly, “for not wanting the world to know she’d been the Fire Lord’s whore?”

Zuko was on his feet so quickly I thought his chair might topple over. “Do not talk about her like that.”

“That’s what people would say about her,” I argued. I got to my feet as well, stuffing the letter from the Royal Academy into the breast pocket of my tunic. If Zuko wanted the world to know the truth, he had to be ready for their judgement, too. “And wouldn’t they be right?”

“No, they would not!” Zuko said emphatically, raising his voice to me for the first time. He stalked a few paces away from his desk, towards the window, then turned back to me and snapped, “That’s not what  _ she _ thinks, is it?”

“How should I know?” I protested, my own voice raised as well. “It’s not like she’s ever told me what happened!” Zuko looked pained at the prospect of having to explain it to me, and I hastily added, “I don’t want to know anyway!” The circumstances didn’t matter, whatever they might have felt at the time was irrelevant. What they had done was wrong, and they both should have known better. The Fire Nation might wink at royal bastards, but a Water Tribe woman would not be afforded the same latitude. “Haven’t you dishonored her enough?” I accused.

That seemed to finally get through to him. He leaned heavily on the window sill, head bowed. When he spoke again, his voice was low and resigned. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “I want to make things easier for you, Bumi. But I don’t want to make it harder for her.”

“Then we’re agreed?” I asked. “This stays in the family?”

Zuko lifted his head to gaze out the window, at the view of the private gardens his office overlooked. “If that’s how you both want it,” he said sadly.

* * *

Izumi may have been right about the navy toughening me up, but she hadn’t spent the last two years idle, either. She was less awkward on her feet, more confident in her forms, and I found the rematch every bit as challenging as our first face off. But this time, I had a secret weapon.

Izumi’s fire was still more powerful than mine, and just like last time, she eventually managed to knock me down. But instead of letting the fight end there, I drove her back by exhaling a jet of flame. Her surprised retreat gave me enough of an opening to recover and get the better of her instead.

“No way,” she said in amazement as she took my hand and I helped her up off the training room floor. “You’ve mastered the breath of fire? I’ve been trying to do that for months!”

“It can get pretty cold out at sea, once the sun goes down,” I replied, though my triumphant grin certainly undermined my attempt at a humble explanation. “I had to keep warm on night watch somehow.”

“Yeah, okay, genius,” Izumi said sarcastically, not fooled for a moment. She planted her hands on her hips. “So what’s the secret?”

“Well, you know the inner fire sits here,” I said, placing one fist over my stomach. “Your chi flows from your core to your extremities and back, which is why bending with your hands and feet is most natural. But you can draw that energy up as well.” Here I opened my hand, and traced two fingers from my navel to my throat to illustrate the path. “That’s how the breath of fire works.”

Izumi gave me a strange look. “They didn’t teach you that in the navy.”

I shrugged, letting my hand fall back to my side. “I might have figured it out based on how my mom taught my sister how to heal with waterbending.” Izumi raised an eyebrow, and I added self-consciously, “Kya, I mean.”

Izumi walked to the side of the training room, grabbed a fresh towel from the shelves there, and wiped the sweat off her face and neck. “It’s okay,” she said. She took a drink from the water barrel, then turned back to face me. “I know you have another sister. You can talk about her. I’m not going to be...jealous or anything.” But her assurance wasn’t wholly convincing.

I joined her, taking the dipper when she offered it to me and drinking as well. “I wish you could meet her,” I said, grabbing a towel of my own and sitting down on a nearby bench. “Tenzin, too. I think you’d like them.” Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, but it was easy for me to imagine all three of my siblings getting along.

Izumi ran her towel over her face once again, then held it to her chest. “Who says I can’t?” She gave a nervous laugh, then added, “Maybe I’ll go back to Republic City with you.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. “You know that’s not a good idea,” I said gently. This trip home would be hard enough, what with my determination to convince my mother to finally tell Aang the truth. Bringing Zuko’s daughter along with me would only complicate things unnecessarily.

Izumi sat down on the bench next to me. “Well, maybe I am a little jealous,” she admitted. “Just because you travel so much, and I’ve never left the Fire Nation.”

Still leaning back against the wall, I cracked one eye and looked at her sideways. It was true - while Izumi accompanied Zuko on most of his official domestic visits, when he occasionally went abroad she stayed in the capital. Something about the government ministers being anxious. “Well, you’re the only heir to the throne they’ve got,” I reminded her.

“You could still do something about that,” Izumi pointed out innocently.

I scoffed, which was about all the response that deserved. “Not happening,” I said firmly. Then, looking for a happier topic of conversation, I elbowed her gently and said, “Anyway, how about those fireworks?”

Izumi didn’t object to the change of subject, and sprang to her feet eagerly. “Okay, so I changed it up a little,” she warned. Then she conjured a flame in the palm of her hand, but instead of twisting it into a rope like I did, she made a circular motion with both palms flat, rolling it directly into a ball. When she tossed it into the air, it burst into a perfect shower of golden embers. “How was that?” she asked, smiling expectantly.

“Excellent,” I replied, grinning back at her. “You made it your own.”


	4. The Truth

I visited the Royal Academy in person to officially accept the place I had been offered before I left for Republic City. Even though I had told Zuko I could turn it down, the truth was that was the last thing I wanted to do, and I figured it would strengthen my position in the argument I was anticipating with my mother if I could present my enrollment to her as a done deal. It wasn’t like she had grounds to object to me making unilateral decisions.

My second return home went a lot like my first - an enthusiastic hug from Kya, a polite but sincere thank you from Tenzin for the gift I had brought him, my mother thrilled to have all her children in one place again, and Aang...well, Aang was happy to see me, too, not knowing the revelations that were coming in my wake.

Of course everyone wanted to know what I was doing now that my tour of duty was up - would I re-enlist, or go on to something else? Would I stay in the Fire Nation, or come back to Republic City for good, or, as Kya suggested, move to the Earth Kingdom for a change? I dodged the questions at first, with a cagey explanation that I had some tentative plans but didn’t want to say anything until they were more firm. I met my mother’s eye, and knew she realized that meant I had to talk to her first.

She found me later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed. I had gone down to the beach to walk under the stars and the nearly full moon. “Missing the sea already, sailor?” my mother joked.

“There is something about the sea,” I agreed, turning away from the breaking waves to look at her. My mother was not exactly old by that point, there was only a touch of gray in her hair, but the moonlight seemed to rejuvenate her a little bit nonetheless. “But it doesn’t call to me like it does to you.”

My mother smiled and came closer, looping one arm through mine. “Is that your way of telling me you’re done with the navy after all?”

“I am,” I replied. “And I do know what I’m doing next, but before I tell anyone…” I looked back out at the sea - dark, beautiful, but deceptive, with so many secrets hidden so deep. I steeled myself, and went on. “You need to have a talk with Aang.”

I waited for the argument, the tears, the rebuke. They never came. Instead my mother rested her head against my shoulder. “Can I ask what your big plans are?”

I gave a soft sigh of frustration, thinking she was avoiding the subject. But telling her would only prove my point. “I’m enrolled in the Royal Academy for the next term,” I said. “I want to learn more about the spiritual side of firebending.”

My mother was silent for a long time. Neither of us moved. I stood there, heart pounding. Was she just going to ignore everything, pretend nothing was wrong? Had she gotten so used to hiding that she had forgotten how to do anything else? “Say something, Mom,” I begged her at last.

“Bumi,” she said in a small, fragile voice. “I’m scared.”

I pulled away from her, so I could look at her better. “You’re scared,” I repeated. She had been scared from the very beginning, ever since I was six years old, or maybe even longer. But she had never admitted it before.

She folded her arms tight over her stomach, eyes downcast, and went on, “I’ve always been afraid if he knew the truth, it would ruin everything. And it would be my fault.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. There was no way to make it better. Aang would certainly be hurt, and probably angry, and I didn’t know if they would ever be able to reconcile. And it  _ would _ be her fault, there was no way around that. But the deception was wrong, and had gone on long enough. “We can’t keep lying to him forever,” I insisted helplessly. “The only thing that could be worse than telling the truth would be living in fear of it for the rest of your life.”

My mother closed her eyes. “You’re right,” she agreed. “You’ve always been right about that.”

“So you’ll do it?” I asked in disbelief. “You’ll tell him?” I had expected her to fight me on this far more than she had.

“I’ll tell him,” she confirmed, then wiped at her eyes. I stepped closer to her again, and pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t realize, back then,” she said, wrapping her arms around my middle and holding on tight, “how one wrong choice could lead me to hurt everyone else so much.”

* * *

The next day, I took Kya and Tenzin into the city. We were all eager to check out the latest craze in the United Republic: Pro-bending. The matches were still held outdoors in those days, and it was a rougher game, with fewer rules and no protective gear. Kya loved it, and I found it entertaining enough, though Tenzin complained that the benders only used basic forms to beat each other up. I think the awareness that he was one of only two airbenders in the entire world and the weight of tradition that put on his shoulders was already starting to get to him.

The three of us also paid a visit to the newly opened Museum of the Four Nations, which was more to Tenzin’s liking. In the spirit of integration that the United Republic was supposed to represent, the museum divided its collection by historical era rather than by nation, telling the story of the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, and Air Nomads as one. I was fascinated by the earlier exhibits - the unification of the Fire Islands, the Water Tribe migration to the south - but my siblings were eager to get to the exhibit about the Hundred Year War, so I obliged them and didn’t tarry too long over ancient history.

At the end of the exhibit there were two bronze busts - one of Aang, his face still round and boyish as it had been when he was twelve, and the other of a teenage Zuko, newly crowned. The Avatar and the Fire Lord whose unlikely friendship had ended the war and saved the world. Kya giggled over how much the bust of Aang resembled Tenzin, and Tenzin beamed with pride at the comparison, while I hung back quietly and hoped the museum wouldn’t one day have to add another exhibit about how the fragile peace came to an end with the fracturing of Aang and Zuko’s friendship over my existence.

We had gotten lunch while at the Pro-bending match, though Tenzin had complained about the lack of non-meat options leaving him with few choices. To make it up to him, after we left the museum we got dinner at a vegetarian restaurant. As we headed back to the island, all three of us agreed that the egg custard tarts we’d had for dessert were the highlight of the day.

All said and done, it was an enjoyable outing. But of course, my ulterior motive for the whole thing had been to give my mother and Aang some space for the difficult conversation they needed to have. As much fun as the day had been, as soon as we got back to the house on Air Temple Island, the odd stillness of it struck me, a reminder of reality.

Telling my siblings to wait in the living room, I went and knocked on my mother’s closed bedroom door. “Mom, it’s me,” I called through the door. “Are you…” Of course she wasn’t  _ okay,  _ if she’d done what she had said she was going to do. “Are you in there?”

There was a muffled reply that I couldn’t quite make out. I cracked the door open and peered into the dark room, where I could just see her, lying facedown on her bed. “Mom?” I called out again, softer. 

She shifted, lifting her face slightly from the pillows. “Don’t worry about me,” she said in a feeble voice that had rather the opposite effect. “I just...I need to be alone for a while.”

I didn’t argue, nor did I ask questions. It was clear that she had done it. Aang knew the truth about me. I closed the door quietly, then went and told Kya and Tenzin that mom wasn’t feeling well, and wanted to rest.

“Well, where’s Dad?” Kya asked, just a hint of accusation in her tone. It was probably nothing more than the old resentment at Aang’s frequent absences, but on this occasion it stung me. If Aang wasn’t there, this time it was my fault, at least in part.

“Maybe he was called away to…” Tenzin began, the first to defend Aang as always. “To do something important,” he finished vaguely.

“No,” I said, pointing to where Aang’s glider still rested by the door. He never left  _ that _ behind, if he was going anywhere far. “He’s somewhere on the island.”

Kya got to her feet. “Well, I’m going to go find him,” she declared.

Hastily, I stepped in front of her. “No, you stay here...in case Mom needs anything,” I insisted. A plausible reason, given that she was the healer among the three of us. “I’ll go look for him.”

Of course, I thought as I headed out into the twilight, after my mother and then Zuko, I was probably one of the last people Aang wanted to see right now. But I felt I still had to make sure, for my siblings’ sake, that he was really still around.

The air temple that gave the island its name only had three levels at that point, with a sort of temporary observation deck at its summit. That was where I found Aang, bracing himself against the wrought iron railing and staring out at the sunset, as still as his statue in the museum, except for the movement of his clothes in the slight breeze.

I said nothing, and considered quietly retreating back to the house, now that I had at least verified his whereabouts. I knew  _ he _ couldn’t be okay, either, and didn’t see how I could possibly help. But he must have heard me come up, and somehow even without turning, he knew it was me.

“Come here, Bumi,” he said, in a tone that would tolerate no argument. Reluctantly, I went and stood at the railing next to him, leaving plenty of space between us. He turned his face to me, and the first thing I noticed was that he was angry. Even on the day I had disappeared with no warning as a teenager, he hadn’t been angry. I had never seen him like this before.

The second thing I noticed was that his eyes were red. He had been crying.

He didn’t say anything more at first, just looked at me, hard. I shrank a little under the scrutiny. Was he looking for the resemblance, like Zuko had, finding it, asking himself how he had never noticed before? Was he wondering how I could have helped my mother lie to him for so long? The stone set fury in his face made his thoughts hard to guess. 

But when he finally spoke, he asked a question I wasn’t expecting. “When Kya was born, and you wanted to know if she could earthbend,” he said, voice rough. “Did you already know then?”

“I didn’t know...the reason why,” I answered carefully. “But I’ve been firebending since I was six years old.”

“Six years old,” Aang repeated, looking back towards the horizon where the sun was sinking low. “She made you lie for her when you were  _ six.”  _ His voice cracked on the last word.

“I’m sorry,” I said, because there was nothing else to say. I had deceived him as much as my mother had, even if it hadn’t been my idea.

“Do not,” Aang said sharply, his grip tightening on the railing until his knuckles were white. “Do not apologize for her.”

“I’m not,” I replied. I knew my mother’s choices were indefensible, and that if she wanted to be forgiven, she would have to be the one to ask for it. “I’m apologizing for myself.”

“Why?” Aang scoffed dismissively, eyes still fixed on the sunset.

“Because I  _ did _ hide this from you,” I pointed out. “Because I let her get away with it.” I should have pushed my mother harder, as soon as I had realized what my bending meant. I should have confronted the truth then, even though it was hard, instead of running away and letting everything fester that much longer. “Because in spite of what I knew,” I said, blinking back my own tears, “I still wanted you to…”

Aang looked at me again, the harsh lines of anger smoothed from his face somewhat. “What was it you wanted from me, Bumi?”

And that question, after everything, was what made  _ me _ angry. “You were the one who named me, Dad!” I shouted, and it was more than habit that made me still call him that. “You were the man I looked up to as a child, the man I wanted to make proud more than anything! You were the one who should have been there for me!”

Aang closed his eyes and hung his head, accepting my anger with far more serenity than I felt he had a right to. “Do you know what your mother told me, about the affair?” he asked, voice trembling on the last word.

“No,” I snapped through clenched teeth, gripping the railing much like he had, to stop my hands from shaking. If there was one thing I still knew nothing about, it was that.

“She said it wouldn’t have happened…” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “It wouldn’t have happened if I had been there for her.” He opened his eyes and looked at me again, and though his anger was still apparent it was his pain that was now most obvious. “Don’t apologize for wanting me to act like your father,” he said. “I should have, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

The tears I had been holding back escaped with a choked sob. I bent over nearly double, wracked with emotion by this apology, which I had needed to hear as much as anything my mother or Zuko could say to me. Aang let go of the railing at last, to take me in his arms. I returned the hug, and I let myself cry, while my father held me.

* * *

My mother insisted on being the one to tell Kya and Tenzin the truth as well, even though I had offered to do it. Tenzin was still so young, I realized, only nine years old. I didn’t think he would fully understand. But we could hardly keep him in the dark. There were to be no more secrets in our family.

Kya took it much like Izumi had. She was furious at my mother, but not at me, and also insisted that we have a proper bending face off, though I won that match. It was the first time I had ever fought a waterbender - they were still basically unheard of in the Fire Nation - but Kya was only thirteen, and even though I suspected she would one day be as powerful a bender as my mother, she was not there yet.

“I guess this does explain some things,” Kya said as she bended her water back into her waterskin when the fight was over. We were out behind the house, the ocean far below us. If we had been down on the beach, I probably wouldn’t have won so easily.

“You mean like why I ran away?” I offered apologetically, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment.

“I mean like why Dad…” Kya frowned, capping her waterskin, and didn’t finish that thought. “Do you think he ever suspected?”

Aang had spent the previous night in the guest house that was part of the Air Acolyte residence, on the other side of the island. As far as I knew, he hadn’t spoken to either of my siblings yet. “No,” I said with certainty. “He seemed pretty blindsided last night.”

“Oh,” Kya said, fiddling the cap on her water skin open and closed again. “I thought maybe, if he did…” She trailed off once more, then shrugged. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.” But in spite of her dismissal, whatever she was thinking was clearly bothering her.

“Kya,” I said, stepping close and putting an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Kya leaned into my side, then said softly, “It’s probably wrong that I’m...a little jealous.”

“Jealous?” I repeated, looking down at her. She hid her face against my shoulder. “Well, you’re going to have to explain that, at least.”

She mumbled something, and when I asked her to repeat it, she glared up at me. “You get another father,” she said bitterly. “And if Dad suspected it about  _ you, _ even a little bit, then I thought maybe he could have suspected it about  _ me,  _ too, and that would...explain some things.” She looked down, ashamed. “Don’t tell Tenzin I said that.”

“Of course,” I agreed. No more secrets, but some things were still personal. Aang’s shortcomings as a father were not Tenzin’s fault. “But maybe you should talk to Dad about it.” I hugged her closer, then added softly. “He apologized to me.”

Kya made a sound somewhere in between a laugh and a sob. “What is this going to be, Dump on Dad Week?” she asked sarcastically. “We all just unload everything on him at once?”

“Maybe not right away,” I agreed. There probably was only so much we could put on him at once. “Sometime, though,” I insisted. “Be honest with him.”

If finding out I had been able to keep my firebending secret from him for years had made Aang realize how he had neglected me, he must have at least begun to realize how he had done the same to Kya. She deserved whatever amends he could make as much as I did, if not more. It was just too bad it took the worst betrayal of his life for Aang to see it.

* * *

Kya and Tenzin did spend some time together with Aang later that day, down at the beach. I stayed back at the house to keep my mother company, though this mostly involved me doing various chores while she sat quietly at the kitchen table. She would give short answers if I asked her questions, and eat if I put food in front of her, but otherwise seemed very far away.

Aang did not come back to the house. I brought his glider and some of his other things over to the Air Acolyte residence in the evening, and if the acolytes were curious about this obvious sign of discord between the Avatar and his wife, they were tactful enough not to say anything about it. Things were still awkward between Aang and I - how could they not be - but he made a point to ask me about what I planned to study at the Royal Academy, and he was the first person I told about my desire to be a fire sage someday. He seemed pleased by the idea, as much as he could be. At the very least, it gave us something to talk about.

Things did improve a little, after those first couple days. I began each day with meditation like I always had, but then I would drag Kya out of bed to help me with breakfast. My mother slept later than was usual for her, but she did speak more, and reasserted her authority over the kitchen when it was time to prepare lunch or dinner. She insisted on keeping up Kya’s waterbending lessons, too, and if Kya was more motivated than ever to throw water whips and ice daggers at her, my mother was still more than capable of defending herself against her angry teenage daughter, at least when it came to bending.

But Aang still wasn’t ready to speak to her directly, and I could tell neither of them felt right about using me as a go-between. I suggested to my mother that she reach out to someone she could trust - an old friend like Toph Beifong, or my Uncle Sokka, who lived in Republic City now as the Southern Water Tribe’s newly appointed delegate to the Council of Nations. She protested that they were both too busy with their own lives to help her sort out her mess, but when I reminded her that I was going back to the Fire Nation soon, she promised to at least think about it.

Tenzin, for his part, avoided me for that first day after learning the truth. Perhaps it would be more fair to say he avoided everyone, staying shut up in his room and refusing to come out. He let Kya bring him a bowl of soup at one point, but other than that wouldn’t acknowledge anyone. Even after, when he was coaxed back out, he spent time with Aang and Kya and even my mother, but refused to speak to me.

I made overtures throughout the rest of my stay, but it wasn’t until the morning of the day I was to leave that he broke his silence. He came into my room as I was sitting at the end of my bed, meditating - the proper way, with four candles lit on the end table instead of just one, and hands open in my lap. The flames rose and fell in time with my breathing. It was the first firebending Tenzin ever saw me do.

“Do you have to go back?” he asked softly, alerting me to his presence.

I opened my eyes and turned to see him standing awkwardly by the door, looking miserable. After the cold shoulder I had gotten, I hadn’t expected him to want me to stay. “Yeah, I do,” I said gently, snuffing out the candles with a wave of my hand and turning to sit on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. “But school will let me come back to visit more often than the navy.”

“Why?” Tenzin asked.

I didn’t understand the question. “Why am I going back to school?” I guessed at his meaning.

“Why are you going back to the Fire Nation?” he clarified, frowning. “Why did you choose them over us?”

“Tenzin,” I said gently. “That’s not what this is about.” For all my own resentment, I could never choose between the two sides of myself, between being Izumi’s brother or his and Kya’s. Both were part of who I was.

But Tenzin, in his childish logic, was not convinced. “You ran away so you could be a firebender,” he accused me. “Then you left us to join the Fire Navy, and now you’re doing it  _ again _ because you want to go to some fancy Fire Nation school.” He blinked at me, bottom lip quivering. “Are we not good enough for you?”

“No, that’s not it at all,” I insisted, holding out my arms. “Come here.” To my relief, Tenzin practically ran into the hug. “You’re the only little brother I’ve got, Tenzin.”

“But Kya’s not your only sister,” he protested against my shoulder.

“Well, yeah,” I admitted, then squeezed him tighter. “Lucky you, you don’t have to share.”

He didn’t laugh, but then Tenzin seldom did. He was such a serious child. “You promise you’ll come back?” he asked softly. “And not just in two years?”

“I promise,” I said. “I was never running away from you.”

* * *

I said the rest of my goodbyes piecemeal - first Aang, then Kya, and finally my mother walked me down to the dock to catch the midday ferry to the city, where I would board a ship for the Fire Nation capital. 

“We are going to miss you,” my mother said as we walked, her arm looped through mine. “Especially now.”

“You said you’d think about talking to someone,” I reminded her. Whether it was Toph, or Sokka, or even one of the acolytes, she and Aang definitely needed someone to help them work through this. “And I’ll come visit in between terms, and...well, it will be easier for me to write, now,” I added. I didn’t say, now that I don’t have to lie, but she knew what I meant.

We came around a bend in the path, and the dock came into view. The ferry was visible out on the bay, making its way towards us, but still far off. “Won’t it be hard for you at school, though?” my mother asked. “You’ll still be...hiding who your family is.”

She was right, but I tried to shrug off her concern. “I’m used to that,” I replied. “That’s how it was in the navy, and when I studied with Master Genshi.” She had done enough, in telling Aang and Kya and Tenzin, exposed herself to enough shame. I could still make that sacrifice for her.

“You shouldn’t have to,” she said softly, as if she had read my thoughts. “I shouldn't have ever asked you to hide any of this.”

I came to an abrupt halt, causing my mother to take a few steps ahead of me. Her arm slipped out of mine, though I caught her hand. She turned back to face me. “Mom,” I said carefully. “You know what it would mean? If everyone knew?” I shook my head. “Zuko already offered to...to acknowledge me as his son, publicly.” Well, he hadn’t explicitly offered, but I knew that had been his intent. “I told him no.”

My mother looked up at me silently for a moment. She wasn’t afraid anymore, nor did she look like she would cry. Perhaps she had run out of both fear and tears. “That’s your decision,” she said at last. “But I think you should let him.” She reached up with her free hand and caressed my face. “You’ve already done too much lying for my sake.”

The ferry sounded its horn, announcing its approach to the dock. “It’s too soon,” I protested. Everything was still so fragile between her and Aang, not to mention that Zuko and Aang had yet to face each other with this out in the open. I couldn’t add a public scandal on top of that.

“Maybe not yet,” my mother agreed with a nod. “But promise me that  _ you _ will at least think about  _ that.” _

I made that promise. Then I hugged her goodbye, walked down the dock alone, and boarded the ferry. As the boat pulled away, I looked back at my mother, standing alone on the dock, and watched her shrink out of sight.


	5. International Affairs

My first semester at the Royal Academy turned out to be the most uneventful. It was challenging, certainly, in many ways more challenging than the navy had been. Most of my classmates came from Fire Nation nobility, or at least families with wealth. Many of them had had intensive firebending training from early childhood, and as always in terms of raw potential I could do nothing to distinguish myself. My inner fire was a calm, comforting glow, like a campfire on a cold night, not the raging inferno some of the others seemed to possess, by comparison.

But in other ways, I thrived. Vast archives of Fire Nation history and philosophy were now open to me for study. Daily prayer and meditation were not only made available, but expected of all students, and we were even brought to the capital’s great temple of Agni for the rites of the equinox. The complex rituals that the fire sages performed required great precision of bending, and on that score my teachers always gave me high marks.

It was harder for me to make friends among the sons and daughters of the elite than it had been in Master Genshi’s provincial school. The sort of practical joking by which Master Genshi’s students had bonded was strictly discouraged here. But I was far from lonely. Aza, the son of a wealthy commoner from one of the middle islands, came from a rustic enough background to feel out of his depth in the capital. Iyego, the youngest son of the minister of agriculture, was also something of a misfit with a rather dour attitude. The two of them wound up latching on to me for my comparative social aptitude.

Princess Izumi was also a part-time student at the academy’s lower school, and while students of all ages naturally sought to curry favor with her, my motives for ingratiating myself to her circle were simply to spend more time with my sister, even if we had to pretend I was just another one of her friends. Why the Fire Lord’s heir was willing to give me the time of day certainly mystified more than a few of my classmates, but the end result was that I was accepted among them - which of course benefited Aza and Iyego as well.

I also wrote frequent letters. To my mother, I sent careful inquires about how she was holding up and reminders about my advice, to which she wrote cheerfully evasive replies. To Kya and Tenzin, I wrote about life in the Fire Nation capital, so different from the diversity of Republic City, though by those days diplomacy and commerce between the nations was thriving enough that it was not unheard of to see people wearing green or blue even in the more exclusive neighborhoods of the Royal Caldera. To Aang, I mostly wrote about my studies, and we managed to develop a steady correspondence on the finer points of firebending and Fire Nation spirituality, and not much else.

During this time, exciting news came from the Sun Warriors that set the whole capital talking - Ran and Shaw had produced an egg. A handful of other hidden dragons had been discovered since the end of the war, and the Sun Warriors were responsible for overseeing their breeding, but this was the first offspring of the two great dragons in over a century. This was taken as a favorable portent, and the chief of the Sun Warriors hinted that, when hatched, the young dragon would in all likelihood be given to Fire Lord Zuko in recognition of everythig he had done to restore peace to the world.

At the end of the term, the Fire Lord himself came to inspect our progress. He gave most of his attention to the more senior students, those soon to be anointed as junior fire sages or made aides to government ministers, or other such important positions in society. But as my class gave our demonstration of one of the Sun Warrior forms we had learned, I could feel his eyes lingering on me, just as they did on Izumi when the students of the lower school had their turn. I was sure I couldn’t have been the only one to notice, and I began to worry that if we weren’t careful, people would begin to talk about something other than dragons.

I hadn’t met with Zuko in person during that term - an academy student on scholarship had no excuse for paying social calls on the Fire Lord - but we had also exchanged a few letters. I hadn’t told him what my mother had said, though, about letting him claim me as his son. I still didn’t think it was what I wanted, and didn’t see the point in raising the subject again at that time.

We had two weeks of vacation in between terms, enough time for me to make a short visit home. As it happened, the next United Republic summit was to take place at the same time. Zuko had finally prevailed on his ministers to let him take Izumi with him, citing the need for his heir to observe the workings of international affairs. I would be traveling to Republic City separately from them, so I had no chance to confront him about it, but I suspected he was in part hiding behind his daughter. For this summit would be the first time Zuko and Aang would see each other since Aang had learned the truth.

* * *

I had expected this visit home would be difficult, that things would still be strained between Aang and my mother and that the summit would complicate things further. What I had not expected was that my mother would not be there at all.

“She left only two days ago, there was no time to get a letter to you,” Aang explained apologetically as we walked to the house from the ferry dock. Kya and Tenzin were each holding on to one of my hands, and Aang was a few paces ahead of us, so I couldn’t see his face. “Your grandfather has taken ill, and they’re afraid he won’t recover. Sokka couldn’t get away, with the summit coming up, unfortunately, but your mother…”

He didn’t need to finish that thought. My mother had to be there for her father, of course. But perhaps she had also wanted to get away, to run now that she could no longer hide.

The other thing I was surprised to discover was that Aang had moved back into the house. Nobody had mentioned this in their letters, but I took it as a good sign of progress, until Kya quietly told me that up until my mother had left for the south pole, Aang had actually been sleeping in my old bedroom. Still, I thought, that was better than him living on the other side of the island, right?

It was an odd reversal of circumstances, Aang being home with all three of us while my mother was gone. I think my jaw nearly hit the floor the first morning when I came into the kitchen to find Aang and Kya already there, making breakfast. “You know how to cook?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course I do,” Aang replied cheerfully from his position by the stove. Kya, who was slicing a honeydew melon at the kitchen counter, gave a rather skeptical scoff at this. “Hey, watch it, young lady,” Aang scolded affectionately, pointing at her with the spatula in his hand. “Or I’ll burn your eggs.”

Kya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay, Dad,” she replied, clearly unimpressed by this threat. “Bumi, can you set the table?”

I did as she asked, and Tenzin showed up soon after to help me. The eggs were not burned, and it was a decent family breakfast, all things considered. Kya and Tenzin and I had enough to talk about to keep the conversation light, and Aang only needed to chime in occasionally. Since Aang and Kya had prepared the meal, Tenzin and I did the washing up after. Aang had some work to do overseeing construction on the next phase of the air temple, so my siblings and I spent the rest of the morning practicing our bending, out back behind the house where no one would see us - which is to say, where no one would see me. Kya thought it was great fun for us to try out each other’s forms with our different elements, and while Tenzin played along, he still insisted that only the classical forms Aang had taught him were  _ proper _ airbending.

Later, Aang asked me to join him and the acolytes for midday prayers, now held in the first level of the temple. Though it had been years since I had participated in this Air Nomad rite, the mantras were an old, familiar comfort. It was very different from how we prayed in the Fire Nation, and I found myself missing the incense, but it was still the first way that I had learned to pray.

Afterwards, when the acolytes had departed back to their duties, Aang set out on a walk along the cliffs, beckoning for me to accompany him. We walked along the southern side of the island, where it was a sheer drop to the ocean below, a strong sea breeze whipping at our clothes and making a mess of my loose hair. The Academy dress code mandated neat topknots, which was one thing I was glad to be spared from on break.

After walking in silence a ways, Aang came to a halt. Out here, there was little chance of anyone coming upon us by surprise. “You know the United Republic summit begins tomorrow,” Aang began, raising his voice slightly against the wind.

“I know,” I replied. He would have to spend most of the next few days in the city. With my mother gone, it was a good thing I was here to stay with Kya and Tenzin, who were not quite old enough to be left unsupervised for so long. There were the acolytes, of course, but it would be better for them to have an adult in the house with them.

“There’s an opening reception this evening,” Aang went on. He looked out at the sea, away to the south, where somewhere over the horizon the islands of the Fire Nation lay - or maybe he was looking farther than that, all the way to the south pole. “I’d like you to come with me, if that’s not too much to ask.”

“Me?” I said, blinking in surprise. “What would you need me there for?”

Aang crossed his arms over his chest. “To stop me from punching the Fire Lord in the face,” he replied with grim humor.

“Oh,” I said. So Zuko would not be the only one trying to hide behind his kid. “Well, I guess if you think having me there will help…” I would have thought my presence would only make things worse, an unpleasant reminder. But Aang would know better, I supposed.

“It will,” Aang said. “As much as anything will help.”

It was not the most optimistic assessment. But, in the interest of averting a potential diplomatic incident, I agreed.

* * *

The first problem with Aang’s plan was that I had nothing to wear.

Showing up in my Fire Nation clothes was out. While it was common knowledge that the Avatar’s oldest child had gone abroad to study, for an event like this everyone would be expected to wear the colors of their proper nation. At any rate, everything I had packed was too casual for a reception at the city hall.

I could have borrowed a set of Air Acolyte robes, but that didn’t seem right, either. I wasn’t an Air Acolyte, and never had been, really, for reasons that went beyond the thorny question of my paternity. My mother and Kya weren’t Air Acolytes, either - the three of us had never followed the customs of the Air Nomads, as evidenced by the fact that we ate meat and didn’t shave our heads. I could hardly show up to a diplomatic event dressed as if to represent them.

In the end, Aang decided we would stop by Sokka’s house in the city before the reception, and I would have to borrow Water Tribe clothes from my uncle. I hadn’t set foot in Water Tribe territory since a visit to the south pole when Kya was a baby, but at least that part of my lineage was uncontroversial. And since Sokka, the Southern Water Tribe’s representative on the Council of Nations, would also be attending the event, the three of us could then head over to city hall together.

Sokka lived in one of the posh, newer neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city, where the houses were surrounded by neatly manicured lawns and gardens. Since it was a diplomatic residence, his house was easily identifiable by the Water Tribe banners hanging out front. As we approached the front door, I asked Aang quietly, “Has Mom spoken to him?”

“No,” Aang replied. “I don’t think she’s spoken to anyone.” 

Well, that accounted for the vagueness in her letters. Even though all she’d promised was to think about it, I couldn’t help feeling disgruntled that she hadn’t taken my advice. She had to do something, didn’t she? But then, I didn’t really know how things had been the last few months while I was away. And it wasn’t like I had made great strides in following her suggestions, either.

Aang rang the doorbell and Sokka greeted us himself. I hadn’t seen my uncle since before I had run away, and of course he had to make a joke about that. “Taking off without warning to go wandering all over the world,” Sokka said with a wry shake of his head. “You got that from your father, obviously.” He clapped me on the back, and Aang and I both winced.

Fortunately, shopping was something of a vice of Sokka’s, so he had an extensive wardrobe from which he could easily outfit me. The rich silk tunic and jacket he handed me were the appropriate royal blue, but the cut of the garments looked more like an Earth Kingdom style than anything I remembered the men at the south pole wearing. I said as much to Sokka, but he merely shrugged and said the fashions were changing. They had not, apparently, changed enough to render the plain topknot I had reluctantly worked my hair into acceptable - Sokka insisted on restyling it into a wolf’s tail.

Taking in my appearance in the mirror when all was said and done was like looking at an alternate version of myself - Bumi of the Water Tribe. Perhaps, if I really had been a nonbender, that’s who I would have become, embracing my mother’s culture as Kya had done.

There was a hint of something almost mournful in Aang’s eyes when he saw me that gave me the impression he was thinking the same thing, and even wishing it had been the case. How ironic, that my father was now disappointed in me because I  _ wasn’t _ a nonbender.

But there was no time to talk about it. The three of us had a party to attend.

* * *

The ballroom at city hall was full of people. I had thought of these summits as rather intimate affairs, but Aang explained to me that each council member and head of state had a whole staff of clerks, scribes, advisors, and other personnel behind them, and while these people mostly worked behind the scenes, they were all invited to the opening reception. The business of maintaining world peace was a lot more complicated than I had realized.

Most of the guests wore green, red, or blue, of course, but there were a few Air Acolytes from the group that lived at the Southern Air Temple now, and they were delighted to see Aang. Sokka was soon dragged away from us by an Earth Kingdom man wanting to talk to him about some new invention of his - a device for recording sound, the workings of which were way over my head, but which had Sokka nodding in interest as they walked off. I stuck by Aang’s side as he continued to work the crowd, greeting everyone by name, from the mayor of Republic City to the secretary to the economic advisor to the Northern Water Tribe councilman. For a while, everything was going smoothly.

Then, the Fire Lord arrived.

Aang and I were well on the other side of the room when Zuko and Izumi entered, but Aang’s friendly smile disappeared at the sight of them, and his eyes hardened. The woman he had been talking to, an advisor to the Earth Kingdom councilman, clearly noticed this sudden change. “Forgive us,” I hastily put in before she could say anything. “But my father and I haven’t had a chance to get anything to drink yet.” And with that rather feeble excuse, I took Aang firmly by the arm and steered him towards the punch bowl.

“You know,” Aang said darkly, his eyes still fixed on Zuko, as I forced a glass of the sickly sweet red beverage into his hands. “Part of me didn’t think he’d dare to show up.”

That seemed a rather irrational hope, I thought, watching Zuko carefully avoid looking in our direction as he made his own round of greetings. But I had more pressing concerns. “If you keep glaring at him like that,” I warned in a low voice, “you might as well hit him, for all that people are going to talk.”

Aang tore his eyes away, to glare at me instead. “Sorry, I’m not as experienced at hiding these things as you.”

It was an unfair thing for him to say, but this wasn’t the place to argue. “You asked me to come,” I reminded him instead.

Aang took a sip of the punch as if to steady himself, then grimaced at the taste. “They always make this too strong,” he muttered, but didn’t set the glass aside. I looked down at my own glass with a frown. I didn’t like to drink much, and hadn’t realized the punch was spiked.

But before I had a chance to swap out the drink for something else, Sokka found us again. “There you are, nephew!” he said brightly, throwing an arm around my shoulders. In his other hand he held his own glass of punch, and I suspected he had already seen the bottom of it at least once. “What’s a young lad like you doing hanging around your old man all night, huh?” Tossing a conspiratorial wink at Aang, Sokka leaned in towards me and said in what he probably thought was a discreet whisper, “There’s a girl here who wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t think…” I began, but Sokka ignored my protest and dragged me away, leaving Aang frowning down at his glass. I hoped some other friend of his would come talk to him and distract him - he clearly knew many people at this party. Whatever girl Sokka was trying to introduce me to, I’d have to find an exit from her conversation as soon as I politely could to resume my duties as Aang’s chaperone.

But the girl in question turned out to be none other than Izumi.

“Your highness,” Sokka greeted her with an exaggerated bow that somehow didn’t spill his drink. “The young gentleman whose company you requested.” And with another clap on my back, he wandered off to cause mischief elsewhere.

“Funny seeing you here,” Izumi said dryly. I noticed her glass held only water, and envied her. I set aside my own barely touched glass of punch on a nearby table.

“What did you say to my uncle?” I asked curiously.

“Only that I recognized you as a student at one of the universities,” Izumi replied in an innocent voice, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her hair was as dark as mine, but smooth and straight where mine was coarse like my mother’s. “I didn’t say which one, of course,” she added reassuringly.

I glanced around quickly, looking for Aang. He was over by the hors d’oeuvres table, once again glaring obviously at Zuko. As I watched, Zuko cast a furtive glance in Aang’s direction, then shrank slightly and hastily looked away. But both of them were engaged in conversation with other people, so I figured they were relatively safe for the time being, and I could take advantage of the opportunity to chat with my sister.

“Well, is your first trip outside the Fire Nation everything you hoped it would be?” I asked.

Izumi smiled thinly. “It has certainly been educational so far,” she replied. “Did you know, to appease the court about my coming, we had to bring not one but two physicians as part of our retinue?”

“Two doctors, huh?” I said with a chuckle. “In case the first one gets sick?”

Izumi laughed at the joke as well. “In case the Fire Lord and his heir are both taken ill,” she explained in her most decorous, courtly voice, rather than the more casual tone she usually took with me. “So that we may each have a physician’s undivided attention.”

“You are a treasure to your nation, Princess,” I reminded her with an ironic bow of my own, far less dramatic than Sokka’s had been. “It’s only natural that they are protective.”

“Indeed,” Izumi agreed. She took a sip of her water, then gave me a teasing look. “I have not made the most persuasive case for you to take my place, have I?”

I rolled my eyes at what was by now an old joke between us. “No, you have not,” I said. Nor did I harbor any longer even the slightest doubt about the legality of such an absurd hypothetical. My studies of Fire Nation history had made it quite clear that while a royal bastard might go on to do many things, he could never take the throne. “I’m afraid you’ll have to continue to shoulder that burden.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Aang slipping out of the ballroom through one of the glass doors that led out to the gardens behind city hall. I knew I should go check on him, but Sokka had found Zuko and seemed to be talking his ear off, so I didn’t feel rushed. “It’s going to be a very interesting summit, isn’t it?” Izumi said quietly, having followed my gaze towards our father.

“That’s why we’re here,” I replied just as quietly. 

Izumi glanced back over at me. “By the way,” she said. “You look good in blue.”

I tugged at the sleeves of my jacket self-consciously. “I feel ridiculous,” I admitted. “These are Sokka’s clothes. I never dress this nice.” Even my naval dress uniform had not been so fussy.

Izumi looped her arm through mine, which I thought was a touch overly familiar for such a public setting, and guided me towards the table I had set my drink on a moment ago. I still had no interest in the punch, but when we sat, a waiter came over and filled our water cups almost immediately, for which I was grateful. “Tell me about Republic City,” Izumi prompted, sounding less like a princess and more like my sister again. “What’s there to do here?”

“Oh, plenty,” I replied. “But I don’t think you’ll have time to go take in a pro-bending match during your stay.”

“Why do you think I want you to tell me about it?” Izumi shot back, leaning in eagerly.

I gave in, and told her what I knew about the sport, and about the city’s other attractions - the theater, the restaurants, the Museum of the Four Nations. This last Izumi informed me she and Zuko were scheduled to tour as part of their official visit, though she didn’t sound as enthusiastic about it as I had been. My sister learned her lessons dutifully, but she did not share my interest in history.

Unfortunately, Izumi and I became so engrossed in talking to each other that we failed to notice when Zuko quietly slipped out of the ballroom as well. So much for our chaperone duties.

I was alerted to my failure when Aang marched up to our table, furious. “We’re leaving,” he said to me, curtly, completely ignoring Izumi. People were staring, and murmuring under their breaths, Aang’s sudden reappearance and rude behavior causing a scene, though Zuko was nowhere in sight. With an apologetic glance at my sister, I obediently got up and hurried after Aang out of the ballroom.

“What happened?” I asked once we were alone, outside of city hall in the cool night air.

“I punched Zuko in the face,” Aang replied flatly as we crossed the plaza.

“No, really,” I said, taking this as a brush off answer. Aang was the most non-violent person I knew. He wouldn’t have done that, no matter how angry he was, nor how rightly so. “What actually happened?”

Aang stopped, rubbing the knuckles on his right fist with the opposite hand. “Really,” he said, looking down at his hands. “Zuko came looking for me and tried to  _ apologize.”  _ He spat the last word, as if Zuko’s apology had been only a further insult. “And I hit him.” His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, great,” I groaned, rubbing my temples. I was a complete failure. This was going to cause an international incident, I was certain. The summit would fall apart, the United Republic would collapse, war would break out again, and it would be all my fault. I started back towards city hall, as if I could somehow smooth things over, but Aang’s voice halted me in my tracks.

“What’s wrong with me?” he said quietly, and utterly distraught.

“What’s wrong with  _ you?” _ I echoed in astonishment, turning back towards him. Aang was still looking down at his own hands like he couldn’t believe what he had done. “Dad, I don’t think anyone who knew what he did would blame you.” The problem was, of course, no one was supposed to know.

Aang looked up at me, the same mournful look he’d given me back at Sokka’s house, wishing everything had been different. “You don’t…” he started, but then shook his head. “Nevermind. Let’s just go home.”

We didn’t speak much on the rest of the trip back to Air Temple Island. But as we disembarked from the ferry and walked up the dock, Aang made one last comment on the incident, seemingly out of the blue. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him,” he said bitterly.

I only nodded in reply. That was no more than I had expected.

* * *

In spite of my poor performance at the welcoming party, Aang still wanted to bring me to the first summit meetings the next day. When I protested that there was no plausible excuse for my presence, he simply insisted that the Avatar could bring whoever he liked. So, in yet another borrowed Water Tribe outfit, though thankfully a less stuffy one this time, I found myself seated at the round conference table next to Aang.

Seated directly across from me was Zuko, with an ugly purple bruise further marring the side of his face already disfigured by the scar. When the Earth Kingdom councilman had expressed concern at the Fire Lord’s appearance, Zuko had offered a curt explanation about having tripped and fallen. Standing to his side and slightly behind, Izumi had met my eye, discreetly held up two fingers, and mouthed the words  _ both doctors _ . I had stifled a nervous laugh, relieved that she, at least, was taking the incident in stride.

But as the meeting got underway, all desire to laugh evaporated.

It was terribly awkward. Zuko’s gaze kept slipping over to me while other people were talking, and he had to ask the council members to repeat themselves several times. Aang, for his part, refused to speak to Zuko directly, directing all his questions and comments for the Fire Lord to Izumi, insisting that the princess was there to learn about diplomacy, after all. This grew increasingly uncomfortable as the meeting went on, and Izumi’s embarrassment at having to continuously look to her father for answers became evident to everyone in the room. Sokka tried to lighten the mood with a joke, and while some people forced a few chuckles, Aang and Zuko were both clearly not amused.

When we adjourned for lunch, I overheard the Earth Kingdom councilman complaining to his aide that these meetings were usually far more productive. The aide nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, the Northern Water Tribe councilman was leaning in and saying something to Sokka in a low voice, with a suspicious glance at the Fire Lord. Whatever he said had Sokka frowning in concern as well.

This was very bad, I thought.

* * *

Mercifully, each of the dignitaries at the summit had private accommodations for lunch - somebody had had the sense to realize that after spending all day together in meetings, a common meal would have been too much even under the best of circumstances. And these were decidedly not the best of circumstances. Aang and I were shown to a small lounge and served a vegetarian meal.

“I don’t know what these things are usually like,” I commented as Aang poked sullenly at his noodles. “But I don’t think this summit is going very well.”

“It’s not,” Aang agreed, then set down his chopsticks with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Bumi, I thought I could do this, but…” He was interrupted by a knock at the door. When he called for the visitor to enter, it was Izumi who stepped into the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“Avatar Aang,” she said with a polite bow of her head. “We need to talk.”

Aang frowned, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that,” he said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. But your father should not have sent you here, either.”

“He didn’t,” Izumi replied, lifting her chin. “I came on my own.”

I got to my feet as well. “Izumi, maybe this can wait,” I said carefully. Aang was in an unpredictable mood, and the last thing I needed was for one of them to say something to offend the other. Our personal problems were causing enough trouble for the summit already.

But Izumi would not be deterred. “It can’t wait,” she insisted, her eyes snapping over to me. “And, respectfully, Bumi, I didn’t come here to speak with you.” She looked back at Aang, who was watching her with a stern expression. “I came here, on my own initiative, to tell you that I understand why you are angry at my father. But for the next three days that this summit is in session, you need to hold it together.”

“I see,” Aang said, crossing his arms. “And you thought that  _ you _ needed to tell me this because?”

“Because at the next summit, in six months’ time,” Izumi replied calmly, “you will be dealing with me, and only me. And by then, I shall be better prepared than you found me this morning.”

Aang looked like he wanted to say something scathing at this idea, but he held himself back. I spoke up instead. “Izumi, he can’t just hide behind you,” I pointed out. Too much had happened already, and Zuko withdrawing his personal involvement from the United Republic project now, while perhaps necessary, would only make things look worse.

“It won’t be hiding,” Izumi shot back, “if we let everyone know the truth.”

“What?” I exclaimed. Aang, whom I suspected had been silently repeating a calming mantra to himself, now closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sat back down at the table where our lunch was going cold.

Izumi strode forward confidently and took my seat opposite Aang, forcing me to take another chair in between them, on the third side of the small square table. “My father has already offered once, and Bumi refused,” Izumi explained, once again speaking to Aang. Aang opened his eyes and gave me a look of surprise at that - I had never told him Zuko had wanted to claim me, thinking it would only upset him for no reason, since it wasn’t going to happen. I met Aang’s eyes sheepishly now and shrugged.

“And the Fire Lord is now  _ graciously _ extending the offer a second time?” Aang guessed, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

“No,” Izumi replied. “He hasn’t said anything about it, and I doubt he will, unless Bumi asks.” She looked over at me pointedly. “I strongly advise you to ask.”

“How would that help?” I asked skeptically. Instead of rumors, we would be facing a full-blown scandal, to the embarrassment of everyone involved.

“First of all,” Izumi said, holding up one finger. “It’s already obvious to everyone present for this summit, which means it will soon be known to the world, that the Fire Lord and the Avatar have had a falling out over  _ something _ . Letting everyone know why will shift public opinion in the Avatar’s favor, since he is the...aggrieved party in this dispute.” To her credit, Izumi’s voice only faltered slightly over this diplomatic euphemism. Aang caught it, and scoffed slightly, but otherwise did not interrupt her, listening carefully. 

“That is how you benefit,” Izumi went on, turning back to Aang. “How my father and I benefit, is that in telling the full, true story, we prevent people from inventing their own explanations, and the world can rest assured that the Fire Lord is not planning to start another war.” Her eyes narrowed ominously, and she concluded by quoting one of the ancient Fire Nation philosophers. “Rumors of war unchecked become fact.”

Aang was still giving Izumi a scrutinizing look, almost as if she reminded him of someone. “Your father’s reputation will suffer, if the truth is known,” he pointed out, but there was no malice in his voice.

Izumi nodded. “It will,” she agreed. “But my nation’s security, and the peace of the world, will be preserved.”

That was all well and good, I thought petulantly in the moment of heavy silence that followed, as Aang and Izumi stared each other down. Did either of them care what  _ I  _ had to say about this? What if I didn’t want the world to know me as Zuko’s son? But then, I thought better. Of course I would have no say in the matter. Nobody gets to choose who their parents are. Zuko himself certainly wouldn’t have chosen Ozai, and while Izumi loved Zuko, I knew she wouldn’t have wanted to be the Fire Lord’s daughter if she didn’t have to be. 

“I may have judged you too quickly, Princess,” Aang said at last, breaking the silence. “It seems you have learned a great deal about diplomacy after all.”

Izumi smiled at the compliment. “You agree, then?” she prompted eagerly, her polished persona giving way just slightly to something more girlish. 

Aang glanced over at me before replying. “Give Bumi and I a chance to discuss it,” he said, still rather curtly. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was really considering it, or just looking to get Izumi to leave us alone, and I suppose that was the point. Aang knew something about diplomacy, too, after all, in spite of his behavior the previous evening.

Izumi agreed to this condition, and left us. I looked down at the now room temperature bowls of noodles and vegetables on the table. “Well, I guess I can warm these up,” I offered, not much looking forward to discussing Izumi’s proposal with Aang.

Aang gave me an unreadable look. “You know,” he said slowly. “I’ve never seen you bend.”

I shrugged, and picked up his bowl. “Hasn’t been much chance for it, has there,” I pointed out as I held he bowl in both hands, letting heat radiate from my palms. I used a little breath of fire, too, not actual flame, but shimmering hot air across the surface of the food, to try to heat it more evenly. “You’ll still probably want to stir that,” I advised as I set the bowl back down in front of him, then repeated the process with my own food.

We ate in awkward silence, Aang apparently as uninterested in talking about my legal paternity as I was. I began to suspect he had just been giving Izumi the brush off after all, and I was relieved. Things were still going badly, but we would find some other way to deal with the gossip.

But when we were finished eating, Aang asked me suddenly, “What else can you do?” At my blank expression, he clarified, “Your firebending. Show me something else.” It only occurred to me then that Aang would have been just as capable of reheating the food as I was. For whatever reason, he genuinely wanted to see my firebending in action.

I stood and stepped away from the table, rubbing my hands together as I thought of what to show him. Nothing too big, of course, we were indoors. I lit a flame in my left hand, used my right to draw it just a little higher, then spun it into a rope, like the beginning of the fireworks trick I had shown Izumi. But instead of coiling the rope into a ball, I held it in its serpentine shape, and then very carefully, made other little jets of flame spout off of it - legs, arms, wings, a tapering tail, a head, and then, finally, a miniature breath of fire from the dragon’s mouth.

I let out a deep breath as the fiery image faded, leaving behind nothing more than a fait shimmer of hot air, and even that was soon gone. “How was that?” I asked.

Aang was still staring at the empty space where the dragon had been. “Bumi,” he said softly. “That was amazing.” He got to his feet, came over to me, and put both his hands on my shoulders. “I had no idea you were so talented.”

It was the praise I had wanted since I was six years old. I felt my eyes starting to sting. “Dad,” I said, pleading. “I don’t want to be Zuko’s son. You know that, right? Even when I was angry at you, I’ve always wanted  _ you _ to be my father.”

Aang pulled me closer to him, not as desperate a hug as when he had first learned the truth, but still holding me securely. I felt small, even though I was taller than him. “I will always be your father,” he said firmly. Then, after a moment, he went on in a more reluctant voice. “But you are also his son. And I think...I think Izumi might be right.”

I knew she was. That didn’t make me any happier about it.

* * *

The rest of the meetings went marginally better, but the cold formality between Aang and Zuko was still enough to spell trouble for anyone who had known them before, which unfortunately was just about everyone there for the summit. At the very least, Zuko did not seek Aang out privately again, and there were no more mysterious injuries to be explained.

But of course, I never got a chance to speak with Zuko privately, either, which meant I didn’t get the opportunity to act on Izumi’s advice. I told myself it was better not to bring it up during the summit, anyway, and distract him further. I could always write to him later on. Any official statement from the Fire Lord about me would have to wait.

When the summit finally ended, I had just two days left before I had to return to the Fire Nation. Kya and Tenzin were disappointed that so much of my time had been monopolized on this visit, but we made the most of those last two days that we could. Tenzin was not interested in another pro-bending match, but as I had told Izumi, there was plenty to do in Republic City. There was a Water Tribe cultural festival going on that we all enjoyed, and Kya even coaxed Tenzin and I into posing for a photograph dressed in traditional garb, saying that our mother would love to see the picture when she got back, since she had missed my visit.

But on the evening of the last day, Aang pulled me aside in the kitchen while Kya and Tenzin were otherwise occupied and handed me an unopened letter. “It came this morning,” he said. “I thought you should read it first.” The letter was from my mother.

I broke the seal and read. As I did my heart sank. My grandfather had died shortly after my mother had arrived at the south pole. The election of the new chief had been held immediately, as was customary, and the man chosen had asked my mother to stay longer, to advise him through the transition. She had agreed, meaning she wouldn’t be coming back to Republic City for another six months at least.

To make matters worse, Aang didn’t seem the least bit surprised when I told him what the letter contained. “I’m going to visit the Earth King soon,” he said pensively. “I was already planning to take Kya and Tenzin with me.” That was good news, at least, that he was including his daughter in his plans now. “Perhaps we’ll make it a longer trip, and tour more of the Earth Kingdom.”

“To distract them from Mom being gone, you mean,” I said, crumpling the letter in my hands. Six months to help the new chief, and then what excuse would she find next? “I can’t believe she’s doing this.”

But Aang did not seem to share my anger, or at least, it was tempered by something else this time. “I’ve certainly done it enough,” he said softly. “I guess now it’s her turn.” He gave me a pointed look. “You’ve had yours, too.”

“That’s not the same,” I said hotly, tossing the crumpled letter aside onto the kitchen table. “It wasn’t supposed to…” I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Telling the truth was supposed to help her  _ fix _ things, but she’s just making them  _ worse.” _

I felt Aang put one hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this is just how it has to be,” he said, voice heavy with resignation.

“I doubt Kya and Tenzin would agree,” I shot back, shrugging him off. Aang had no answer for that, and I retreated to my room to meditate, leaving him the task of explaining to my brother and sister that our mother wasn’t coming home after all.

Nobody mentioned anything about it when I said my goodbyes the next morning, but everyone was very subdued. In the bathroom, after Kya had finished fixing her hair, I had already seen the picture of the three of us in Water Tribe clothes crumpled and thrown in the trash.


	6. Scandal

For all I was critical of my mother’s choice to remain at the South Pole, upon my return to the Fire Nation I discovered that I was not above a little avoidance myself.

I spent most of my second term at the Royal Academy in the library, when I wasn’t in class. Aza would join me sometimes, but neither he nor Iyego were zealous students, and even they could find better things to do. I let my friends know that there was some trouble with my family that had arisen during my visit home, and they didn’t ask too many questions about my reclusivity. I didn’t speak much to Izumi, either, and I also neglected to write to Zuko, which was foolish. If I had acted on Izumi’s advice promptly, things might have gone better. At least, if I had been less isolated, I might have been better prepared for what happened next.

As it was, I didn’t even find out about the first pamphlet until later on. Published anonymously, appearing mysteriously throughout the capital city, it alleged that the Fire Lord was displeased with his daughter and heir, and was seeking alternatives. The capital police initially took it as the work of some fanatical group that still wanted to put Azula on the throne, though they were unable to conclusively identify the culprits. Zuko was informed, but of course didn’t see any need to reach out to me.

Whoever was responsible, the second pamphlet made their agenda more clear when it appeared two weeks later. This time they claimed that the Fire Lord had a secret son, hidden somewhere within the capital, and that he was planning, in violation of law and tradition, to make this illegitimate son his successor. There were some disconcerting details in this story - the author knew my age, and claimed to have several confidential sources, including a “provincial schoolmaster” supposedly responsible for my early education.

Zuko should have contacted me at that point, but I found out about it from my classmates, who were discussing the pamphlets in hushed voices before our instructor arrived for the morning’s lecture on the early history of the Fire Islands. Iyego had acquired copies of the most recent publication, which were being passed around. “Pretty crazy, right?” Aza said when he and I got a look at one.

“Yeah,” I agreed, dissembling with years of practice under my belt. “Totally ridiculous.” At least, the part about Zuko trying to replace Izumi as his heir certainly was, even if other parts were a little too close to the truth for comfort.

“I don’t know,” Iyego said darkly, sitting back in his desk chair with his arms folded. “All of Sozin’s line have disregarded tradition in some way.”

Aza laughed at the insinuation. “Zuko is different from Sozin,” he said dismissively. The professor walked into the lecture hall at that moment, and all who were discussing the seditious pamphlet hastily tucked their copies out of sight, myself included.

But Iyego shrugged as Aza took his seat next to him, on the other side from me. “Sure,” I heard him mutter in reply, “but maybe not  _ that _ different.”

I had a lot of trouble paying attention to the lecture that day.

* * *

Still, I didn’t write to Zuko. Aza had explained to me that this story had been going around for weeks, and I thought, if Zuko hadn’t said anything to me, he must not think it was a big deal. It was hardly the first cheap gossip rag to cause a stir in the capital. It would die down like these things always did and soon everyone would be back to speculating about the new dragon hatchling or talking about the spending habits of the wife of the minister of finance, or something else like that. Further silence on Zuko’s end over the next several days only seemed to confirm my assessment.

What I didn’t know was that Zuko had not written to me because he no longer trusted the security of his correspondence. The wrong person catching a glimpse of a secret letter from the Fire Lord to his illegitimate son at this point would be a disaster. What he had done was asked Izumi to speak with me - but of course, I was studiously avoiding her.

So studious was I, in fact, that one late night in the library I fell asleep face down in a copy of Avatar Inigo’s spiritual exercises - fortunately, not one of the Academy’s priceless original manuscripts, for when I was abruptly awoken by someone shouting my name, there was a little trickle of drool running down the page. I hastily wiped away the offending saliva with my sleeve and blinked around groggily.

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. My back was stiff from sleeping hunched over a desk. And the person calling my name was Izumi, who looked livid, and was brandishing another pamphlet in her hand.

“How’d you get in here?” I asked her, my mind still foggy. This library was closed to students in the lower school, even ones with royal privileges. That was mostly how I had succeeded in avoiding her.

But Izumi ignored the question. “Look at this,” she snapped, tossing the pamphlet down on top of the book in front of me. The title on the front page read,  _ How the Fire Lord has hidden his son by the Avatar’s wife for these many years & plans to set his bastard above his noblest and most loyal subjects. _

“Oh, shit,” I groaned, rubbing the last traces of sleep from my eyes. A mild way of putting it, all things considered.

“Get up,” Izumi ordered, grabbing hold of my arm and dragging me to my feet. “We’re going to the palace, before anyone else who’s seen  _ this,” _ and here she snatched up the pamphlet again, “finds you.”

“It doesn’t…” I began as she led me towards the door, then hesitated, afraid of the answer. “It doesn’t identify me, does it?” I clung to the hope that people wouldn’t immediately connect Bumi the Royal Academy student with the bastard in question.

“By name and everything,” Izumi replied, shooting down that hope. She opened the library door, and cast a furtive look down the corridor, but it was empty. Judging by the angle of the sunlight streaming through the windows, everyone would be at morning prayers right now - where my absence was sure to add fuel to the gossip fire. But that meant we were able to pass through the school unobserved and out through the front gates, where Izumi had a palanquin waiting for us. We rode through the streets to the palace with the curtains closed.

“Why didn’t you talk to Dad like I told you to?” Izumi asked sharply when we were under way.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache. The day was already hot, and the closed curtains made the air stuffy, which didn’t help. “I didn’t think it was so urgent,” I offered as a lame excuse. Telling her I had dragged my feet because I didn’t actually want Zuko to be my father felt like something she might have taken as a slight against her.

“Well, it’s certainly urgent  _ now,” _ Izumi replied crossly, tossing the pamphlet at me again. “These are everywhere.”

With morbid curiosity, I picked up the pamphlet and skimmed its contents. There were still some fabrications - Zuko had not been the one to suggest I enlist in the navy, and as far as I knew there had been no secret correspondence between him and my mother all these years - but the gist of the story was frighteningly accurate, even if cast in the most sensational light. The author of the pamphlet saw my enrollment in the Royal Academy on a verteran’s scholarship as taking a place from “a more deserving candidate”, for example, and implied my mother was some kind of ambitious seductress with undue influence over the Fire Lord, determined to see her misbegotten offspring on the throne someday.

I burned the pamphlet to ash in disgust, but it would do no good.

* * *

When we got to the palace, we went straight to Zuko’s office. Most of the guards and servants we passed were too well disciplined to let it show, but I did catch a few looking at me askance. I wondered how much they knew, if they had heard about the latest pamphlet, and just where their loyalties lay. The anonymous author of the pamphlets claimed to have sources everywhere, after all. It seemed only too likely, upon reflection, that conversations I had thought private on my previous visits to the palace could have been overheard, or letters seen by the wrong eyes.

Izumi marched into the office unannounced, and I followed. Zuko was seated at his desk, though Izumi and I both remained standing rather than take the two chairs opposite him. His hands were folded in front of his mouth, and he was listening intently to a younger woman I didn’t recognize - one of his advisors or ministers, I guessed - who was standing next to him and speaking in a hushed voice. He looked up sharply when we came in, though he did not look pleased to see either of us. There was another copy of the latest pamphlet on his desk.

“Do you have any idea who could be behind this, Bumi?” Zuko said without preamble, pushing the pamphlet towards me across the desk. I barely glanced at it, having no desire to read it again.

“No,” I said, just a touch defensively. “I was hoping you did.”

“We are considering several possibilities,” the unknown woman replied evenly. “But what is more important to discuss now is what we’re going to do about it.”

Presumably this woman was someone Zuko trusted, but as I still had no idea who she was beyond that, I didn’t feel comfortable speaking freely in front of her. “You can deny it, of course,” I offered half-heartedly, causing Izumi to glare at me.

“Is that what you want me to do?” Zuko asked, and I realized Izumi had been right. No matter what was at stake, he wasn’t going to publicly acknowledge me as his son if I didn’t want him to. My mother and Aang had both given their assent, however reluctantly. So how could I still be so hesitant to give him that permission, even now?

Because no matter what, letting him claim me, letting the whole world know, would feel like I was choosing Zuko over Aang, and that wasn’t what I wanted at all. I had been letting my personal feelings get in the way of doing what was right, just like I had always resented my mother for. For so many years I had clung to the excuse that this whole problem had arisen from her choices, and Zuko’s, and not from mine. It wasn’t my fault, and it seemed so unfair. But that didn’t change the fact that now I had my own choice to make.

Before I could form my conflicting feelings into an answer, the unknown woman spoke up again. “Zuko,” she said pointedly, surprising me with her familiarity. “Whatever he wants, you can’t just deny everything.”

“Exactly!” Izumi agreed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him.”

I looked at the woman in confusion. “I’m sorry,” I said, losing my patience, “but who are you?”

Everyone looked at me blankly for a moment, before Zuko seemed to remember we had not been introduced. “Oh,” he said with a wave of his hand in the woman’s direction. “This is Kiyi. My sister.”

“His half-sister,” Kiyi specified. “The last royal scandal before you.” Since Zuko’s mother had been banished by her husband, most people had forgiven her for taking up with another man. But most people did not mean everyone, and the circumstances that had brought  _ me _ into existence were not likely to inspire even near that much sympathy.

Other than that, though, I knew hardly anything about Kiyi - my aunt - and was thrown by how much she seemed to know about me. I hadn’t realized Zuko had confided in anyone other than Izumi. “I was trying to avoid becoming a scandal,” I protested, leaning against the back of the chair in front of me.

“At this point,” Zuko said tiredly, “we have a scandal on our hands, and it’s only a question of how much we can mitigate it.” He met my eyes, and asked once again, “To that end, I need to know - do you want me to deny it?”

Kiyi and Izumi were both looking at me expectantly, but I held Zuko’s gaze. The truth was, I  _ did _ still want him to deny it. But it was too late for that. Without knowing who was behind the pamphlets, a denial now would only risk an even greater scandal if it was subsequently proved to be a lie. “What I want doesn’t matter anymore,” I answered. “You need to tell the truth.”

It would not be quite right to say Zuko looked relieved. None of the weight of the situation was alleviated by my acquiescence. But some of the tension was eased. He had been prepared to let the truth be known publicly months ago, after all. I was the one who had stopped him, still not quite free of the deceptive habits that had been impressed on me from a young age. It was only too late that I was realizing we were never going to be able to hide this forever.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Zuko agreed with a nod. “I’ll need to prepare a statement as soon as possible.” This would require meeting with several of his advisors, whom he sent Izumi to find. I think he would have had me stay for the meeting, too, but at that moment my stomach growled audibly, and Zuko seemed to finally notice my beleaguered appearance. A few hours of sleep at a library desk had not left me feeling terribly refreshed, and it certainly showed. With an apologetic smile, Zuko asked Kiyi to show me to a guest room and make sure I got something to eat.

I followed Kiyi through the corridors in silence. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I felt certain that every guard or servant was staring at me behind my back now, listening curiously for any hint of gossip, and I was determined to give them none. They would have plenty to talk about soon enough.

* * *

The guest room Kiyi brought me to had already been prepared - presumably when Zuko had sent Izumi to go get me from the academy, he had already planned that I would not be going back - so when she left to see about breakfast, I took the opportunity to wash up and change out of yesterday’s clothes. The wardrobe I had been provided with was depressingly full of formal court attire, but thankfully I had found at least one casual outfit, a short-sleeved red tunic with a darker red and gold vest.

Kiyi returned with a tray of food herself - the servants were being kept away from me, which was probably wise for the time being. Still, I was surprised when she sat down and joined me for breakfast. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances,” she said, offering me smile and a bowl of congee. “I rarely get to visit, but Zuko’s told me a lot about you in his letters.” Her smile faltered a little, probably as she realized that one of those very letters might have been the source of the current circumstances, if it had been read by someone other than its intended recipient.

But at that point, I was eager to talk about anything else. “You don’t live in the capital?” I asked, digging into the bowl I had accepted from her with some relish. I had skipped dinner the night before to study, and by now I was starving.

Kiyi shook her head, picking at her own food more delicately. “My father and I moved back to Hira’a after my mother died.” I remembered when that had happened - the funeral for the Fire Lord’s mother had been an internationally attended event, and the reason Aang had missed my twelfth birthday.

I frowned at the memory, and set my spoon down. “People loved your mother, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Kiyi replied, then gave me an understanding look. “But you know, I was mad at her for a while.”

“You were?” I asked in surprise.

“She had this whole other life,” my aunt replied with a sweeping gesture as if to indicate the entirety of the palace around us. “This whole other  _ family. _ And she lived the first six years of my life as if none of that had ever happened.” She shook her head sadly. “If Zuko hadn’t come and found us, I think she would have gone on that way until the end.”

In other words, I had deceit on both sides of my family history. I set my bowl down on the table, my appetite suddenly gone. Kiyi’s situation wasn’t really like mine, her mother’s position hadn’t been anything like my mother’s, but still. “Did you…” I began hesitantly. “Did you ever forgive her?”

“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Kiyi said, setting aside her own bowl and leaning back in her chair. “Even when I thought I was over it, as a kid, well…” Here she smiled wistfully. “I was really just so excited to have a big brother, I could overlook things. But my anger at her would come back at odd times, as I got older.”

Resting on the table, my hand clenched into a fist. “How did you let it go?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“This might sound crazy,” Kiyi said carefully. “But what finally helped me was...well, it was talking to Azula.”

She was right, it did sound crazy. Azula’s was a name hardly ever spoken in the capital, and then only in hushed tones. There was still a legacy of fear attached to the insane princess and would-be Fire Lord, who had terrorized her own people in the final days of the war, only to quietly disappear when Zuko took the throne. Everyone knew that Ozai was locked up, stripped of his bending, in the capital prison. What had become of Azula was a mystery. “How could  _ she _ help you?” I asked skeptically.

“It’s hard to explain,” Kiyi replied with a shrug. “But you see...she was angry at Mom, too.” After a pause, she went on in a softer voice, “I think Zuko was the only one of us who never held anything against her. He had a bit of a blind spot, where Mom was concerned.”

With a sigh, I rubbed my knuckles against my eyes, feeling very tired. That was certainly  _ not _ a handicap I had inherited from Zuko - I could see my own mother’s flaws only too clearly. And I didn’t have a crazy half-sister who could give me any guidance, like Kiyi apparently had gotten, though Kya was definitely also angry at our mother...thinking through all the comparisons in the complex web of relationships was giving me a headache.

“You probably should take some time to rest,” Kiyi said after a moment, gathering the remains of breakfast back onto the tray. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.” With that, she left me to my own devices.

I knew she was right - I was exhausted, and there would be so much to do once Zuko issued the statement about me, presumably. But I was not in the habit of going back to bed in the middle of the day. Meditation, I thought, would do me better. The guest room had a balcony that faced east, still bathed in morning sunlight, and I brought a cushion out there, planning to do the prayers I had missed out on. But the warm sun was so comforting, the cushion so soft once I had sat down on it. I stretched out, just for a moment, and closed my eyes.

I was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

I was woken by someone gently shaking my shoulder, and opened my eyes to see Zuko crouching over me, brow furrowed in concern. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor out here?” he asked.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, and Zuko leaned back a little, glancing over me with a strange expression. “What?” I said, running a hand over my hair - I had left it down when I changed, and it was now a mess, of course. “I was just..” I trailed off, blinking out at the courtyard that the balcony overlooked. The sun was now past its peak - early afternoon. So much for getting morning prayers in. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I finished lamely.

Zuko nodded, stood, and offered me a hand. I got to my feet without it. “It’s funny to see you dressed like that,” he commented, ushering me back inside my room. A sensible precaution - the courtyard below was empty for now, but anyone might pass by the balcony.

“Dressed like what?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head. Sleeping on the floor was not really an improvement over sleeping at a desk, and my back was protesting this abuse. “These were the clothes that were left for me,” I explained, a little self-consciously, brushing my hands over the vest to smooth it out.

“I know,” Zuko said, taking a seat on one of the two red armchairs in the room. “Those are my old clothes.” He gestured towards the chair opposite him, and I obediently sat down as well. “I told them you would need court attire, and I think my cast offs were all they could find on short notice. That outfit must have gotten mixed in.”

“Oh,” I said, looking down at myself. I didn’t like the idea of being dressed like Zuko - I was happy to wear Fire Nation styles, certainly, I was a firebender after all, but not his actual clothes. “Why do I need court attire?” I asked instead, more tactfully.

“You’re going to have to be presented to the court,” Zuko replied apologetically. “After the announcement is made tomorrow morning.”

I slumped a little in my chair at the reminder of what was happening. “So soon?” I complained. I knew it was important to respond quickly, to reassure everyone that I had no designs on the throne before the gossip got even more out of hand, but part of me had selfishly hoped it would take a few days for the statement to be drafted. “How did your advisors take the news anyway?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Zuko said, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “There are details in that  _ outrageous _ story that must not only be denied but corrected, and I felt…” He cleared his throat nervously before going on. “Well, I felt you were owed the true story before everyone else finds out.”

I looked away uncomfortably, studying the tapestry on the far wall - it depicted Avatar Roku with his dragon, almost certainly a post-war commission, since Sozin and Azulon had suppressed the Avatar cults as much as they could. “You mean like the part about my mother scheming to put me on the throne?” I asked, covering my own discomfort with flippancy. “I already know that’s not true.”

“I mean the part about your mother being, as you once put it, the Fire Lord’s whore,” Zuko countered, just a hint of accusation in his voice. I frowned, still not looking at him. If it had been wrong of me to call my mother a whore, it had certainly been worse for him to treat her like one. But not wanting to start another argument, I held my tongue.

At my silence, Zuko went on, “The first thing you need to know is that there was never an ongoing affair. It was…”

“One time, one mistake,” I cut him off, working my fingers through the tangles in my hair. “I know. She told me that much.” But one mistake was all it took, and there I was as living proof of that. Small comfort for me, and for Aang for that matter, that it had only happened once.

“One time, yes,” Zuko repeated. “But there were so many mistakes that led up to it...” He trailed off into silence for a moment, and I cautiously looked back in his direction to see that he was gazing into the middle distance somewhere over my shoulder, that soft expression on his face once again. I braced myself for what was coming. “My first mistake was falling in love with her,” Zuko said quietly. “And I’d done that years before.”

I pulled my bare feet up onto the seat cushion and pressed my forehead to my knees. This was what I had always been afraid of, why I had never wanted to know the details of the affair, even if the mystery surrounding my own origins had bothered me. Everything that had happened since, all the pain it had caused...I couldn’t bear to hear him try to justify it in the name of love. His feelings didn’t make anything better.

But Zuko went on, and I resisted the urge to childishly cover my ears. “I never told her how I felt, but I think she must have known.” He sighed, then added sadly, “She was the best friend I had.” There was another pause, the sound of Zuko getting to his feet. I tensed, thinking he might try to comfort me, but he only paced the sitting area as he continued his explanation.

“We had gathered at the Southern Air Temple, all the old gang - in theory Aang wanted us to meet with the Air Acolytes, but really it was just an excuse for us all to spend time together, like the old days.” He gave a melancholy sort of chuckle, and I could just picture his rueful grin, even with my eyes closed and my face still hidden. “And for a little while, it almost was like the old days, in a good way.”

“But then we got word of unrest in Omashu,” Zuko continued in a less wistful tone. “There were food shortages that year, and King Bumi’s health was failing…” I knew the old king of Omashu had died shortly before I was born, and thus Aang had named me after his late friend. “Aang went to see what he could do about it, and Toph went with him, since she was living in Omashu at the time. But Katara...” Zuko took a deep breath, as if just saying her name had pained him. “Your mother stayed behind.” 

That surprised me. My mother had never accompanied Aang on any of his Avatar duties as long as I could remember, but I knew she used to, when they were younger. I had always thought she had stopped when I was born. 

“Why didn’t she go with him?” I asked, looking up and resting my chin on my knees. Zuko stopped pacing back and forth at my question, his hands clasped behind his back, but he didn’t look me in the eye.

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “I’ve often asked myself that since, but…” He shook his head, and went on with his story. “Sokka returned to the South Pole a few days later,” he said. “So I offered to bring your mother back to Kyoshi before I returned to the Fire Nation.”

I said nothing, heart hammering in my chest. It wouldn’t have happened if Aang had been there for her, my mother had said. “It was a short detour,” Zuko continued. “When we reached Kyoshi I was planning to spend the night aboard my ship before leaving in the morning. But your mother wanted...” He looked away, towards the same tapestry of Avatar Roku I had been staring at earlier. “She said she got lonely, in the house by herself. She asked me to stay with her.”

Zuko paused again. From the angle I was looking at him, his face was in profile, the unscarred side towards me. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, as if holding back some great emotion. 

“She was lonely,” I repeated, my voice little more than a hoarse whisper. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? My mother alone with her secrets and her shame while Aang flew all over the world, loved by everyone. But Zuko was painting a different picture now. If her loneliness had begun before her shame, then it was something deeper than I could fathom. “You’re telling me this all happened...because she was lonely?”

“I knew it was wrong,” Zuko said quickly, in response to the implied accusation. “But if I took advantage of her loneliness to indulge my feelings, she took advantage of my feelings to try to cure her loneliness.” He cast his eyes down to the floor. “We both acted selfishly.”

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. He could admit his own selfishness, at least. But if Zuko was looking for words of consolation, I had none to offer. “Then what?” I asked, surprised by my own curiosity, now that the story was being told. “What happened after?”

“Nothing,” Zuko replied, his voice heavy. “I left the next day, like I was supposed to. And that was the end of it all.”

I couldn’t accept that answer. “I know that... _ that _ never happened again,” I said with an awkward shrug. Somehow, I had never doubted my mother’s word on that matter. “But you must have…”

“No,” Zuko cut me off, shaking his head. “I didn’t see her again until your family moved to Air Temple Island, and even during that visit we barely spoke. There were no more letters between us until she wrote to me about your first visit here, and I haven’t heard from her since.” He half turned, looking back up at me at last, eyes filled with regret. “That wasn’t just the end of the affair. It was the end of everything between us.”

Still curled in my chair like a child, I held his gaze. “Not everything,” I challenged him. “There was still  _ me.” _

“That’s true,” Zuko agreed, coming closer. “You were the only good thing to come out of this.” He reached out and cupped my chin with one hand. I tried to pull away, but this time he held me fast. “I’m sorry that I failed you, too.”

All the old anger flared up again. Our conversations always seemed to go this way - Zuko apologizing, and me getting angry. I was so sick of it, but I didn’t know how to break the cycle. I didn’t know how to make myself feel differently. The best I could do was try to hold back from taking my anger out on him, this time. “So what happens now?” I asked instead, forcing myself to sound neutral. In spite of my efforts, the anger I felt crept into my tone.

Zuko let go of me with obvious reluctance. “The official statement will be released tomorrow morning. You’ll be presented to a gathering of nobles in the afternoon, and made a member of the court.” He gave me an apologetic look, knowing this was not what I wanted. “Anything less would be seen as tantamount to me disowning you.”

“We can’t have people thinking that,” I said sarcastically. So much for making an effort to keep my anger in check. 

But Zuko didn’t argue. He looked pained. I don’t know why I kept lashing out at him - after all, I had figured out by then that Aang was the only father I wanted. In theory, Zuko’s absence for the first eighteen years of my life should have meant nothing to me. Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the feeling that on top of the betrayal of Aang, Zuko had failed - not only in his duty towards me, his son, but in some larger way as well. 

Aang might have left my mother alone, but Zuko had done no better. His feelings for her were no excuse for how he had betrayed Aang’s friendship. But if Zuko had really loved my mother as he claimed, I thought, he wouldn’t have abandoned her to raise his bastard on her own, as if neither of us mattered once he’d gotten what he wanted from her. Whatever he had felt, it was his actions that mattered to me - and now that I knew the truth of what had happened, I didn’t think my initial assessment had been that far off the mark.

And in a matter of hours, the rest of the world would be able to make the same judgement for themselves.

* * *

I spent most of the next day with Izumi, holed up in my room and going over the protocol for my official presentation at court that afternoon. As the Fire Lord’s recognized son, my position would be fairly high-status, though I would not technically be considered a member of the royal family. I would also be expected to make an official show of deference to Izumi as the Fire Lord’s heir, to allay any fears about Zuko trying to circumvent the laws of succession in my favor.

“So, you know,” Izumi said casually after explaining all this. “Last chance if you want to make a play for the crown.”

The old joke seemed in poor taste after the events of the previous day, and I didn’t respond to it.

Eventually a servant came to help me dress for the impending event, and Izumi left to get ready herself. It was awkward for me - I hadn’t needed anyone’s help getting dressed since I was a small child, but the heavy crimson robes would have been a struggle to get into myself. How it had ever become the fashion in a tropical climate like the Fire Nation to wear so many layers I couldn’t begin to explain. I thought longingly of the blue silk getup Sokka had dressed me in for the summit, which now seemed simple by comparison. But showing up dressed like  _ that _ to be presented as the Fire Lord’s son would certainly have been a faux pas.

All too soon, I found myself tugging at my high collar, the gold embroidery chafing against my neck, as I stood in one of the dark little alcoves off the throne room. On the other side of the red curtain that separated the rooms, I could hear the convened courtiers milling about, talking in hushed tones - no doubt about me, and the shocking announcement the Fire Lord had made that day. But silence fell over the crowd, indicating Zuko and Izumi had entered and were taking their places on the dias. That was my cue.

I drew the curtain aside, and stepped into the brightly-lit throne room. Everyone stared at me. Of course they stared, and of course I had known they were going to, but it still hit me like cold water thrown in my face. These were the most loyal members of Zuko’s court, who would accept my new position because the Fire Lord had told them to. But only because the Fire Lord had told them to.

I strode forward, head held high with a confidence I didn’t really feel. The crowd fell back to allow me clear passage to the dias, where Zuko was waiting. I knelt before the throne and pronounced the oath I had practiced that morning, swearing my loyalty to the Fire Lord, and to Izumi as his heir. When I had finished, I looked up and met Zuko’s eye.

His face was impassive, a stern mask he maintained in front of the nobles. A Fire Lord could not afford to show any hint of weakness. “We accept your oath,” he said, loud enough for all gathered to hear. “Now stand, my son, and greet the court.”

And that was it. I stood and turned to face the crowd again, who now knew me officially, as the whole world would from then on, as Zuko’s son. As the nobles came forward in ones and twos to exchange stiff formal greetings with me, it was clear that they were no more pleased about this fact than I was.


	7. The Fire Lord's Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumi returns to the academy following the revelation of his parentage. The Sun Warriors make a decision.

I returned to the academy the next day, with the vague threat of more court functions in my future hanging over me. But, for the time being, I hoped I would be able to bury myself in my studies again and pretend that nothing had changed.

I realized how foolish this hope was as soon as I reached the school gates. The headmaster himself was there to meet me, and as he escorted me to his office in stern silence, every student and professor we passed in the corridors cast barely hidden glances in my direction, whispering to each other as soon as we were just out of earshot enough not to be able to make out what was being said. Even Aza and Iyego, I noticed with a pang of guilt, gave me strange looks - Aza wide-eyed and almost awed, Iyego scowling.

There could be no pretending, I realized as the headmaster ushered me into his office and shut the door firmly behind us. Everything had changed.

A white-haired old man who had been in charge of the Royal Academy since Azulon was still Fire Lord, Headmaster Miki ran the school as tightly as any navy captain ran his ship, and saw it as an important institution of continuity throughout both the turbulence of war and the changes that came with peace. One of his students hiding such a scandalous secret from him for nearly a year certainly would not have made him happy.

“Well, Bumi,” Headmaster Miki said, taking his seat behind his dark wooden desk, as solid and traditional as the rest of the decor of his office. “What do you have to say for yourself?” His displeasure, as I had expected, was obvious.

The tone of reprimand made some of my old military training kick in, and I stood at attention, eyes fixed ahead on the royal insignia on the wall behind the headmaster’s desk. “I’m sorry, sir,” I offered, trying to sound contrite enough to placate him. If I was being honest, I was more sorry about the scandal than I was about having kept my parentage a secret, but I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Don’t grovel,” Headmaster Miki snapped, unappeased. “It’s beneath you. And sit down. You’re no common soldier, and I’m not your drill sergeant.”

Of course I was no common soldier - I’d been in the navy, not the army, I was a _ sailor. _ But I knew that was not what Headmaster Miki meant, and this was not the time to point out the distinction. Stiffly, I sat down as he had ordered.

“What I want to know,” the headmaster went on, leaning his arms on his desk and giving me a hard look, “is how long _ you’ve _ known.”

“That I was Zuko’s son?” I replied, swallowing nervously. “Since I was eighteen, sir.” Then, realizing the headmaster might not know my exact age, I hastily added, “About two and a half years.”

“I see,” Headmaster Miki said, eyes narrowing. “And when did the Fire Lord become aware of your...relationship?”

I frowned, wondering why that mattered. But I knew better than to be anything less than forthright. “Just after I did, sir.”

“So when you applied for the military scholarship,” the headmaster concluded, “you were both aware that you were defrauding this institution.”

“It wasn’t fraud,” I protested, a pit forming in my stomach. Would the academy want to scrutinize my whole life now, go back over everything? “You can check with my commanding officers, I served my two years in the navy, just like anyone else…”

“But you are _ not _ just like anyone else,” the headmaster cut me off, slamming one palm against the surface of his desk as sternness gave way to genuine anger. “You are the son of the Fire Lord and should have come to us as such, instead of taking a scholarship intended for a commoner.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t expected that to be the headmaster’s objection. “I just wanted to earn it for myself, sir,” I said, trying to defend my decision. 

The headmaster was not impressed. “I don’t know who you think you need to prove anything to,” he said, pointing one finger at me accusingly. “But your self-indulgence took that scholarship away from some other young man whose father _ wouldn’t _ have been able to send him here without it.”

My self-indulgence. That stung. It was the sin I was used to blaming my mother for, and Zuko, and even Aang. All of them, in their own way, doing what they wanted without realizing how it affected me. Surely I wasn’t anything like that.

But the headmaster had a point. I had never thought about who the scholarship might have gone to if I hadn’t taken it. And now, whoever that other kid was, he would probably never have the opportunity to attend such a prestigious institution as the Royal Academy - an opportunity that had been mine by birthright all along, whether I wanted that privilege or not.

I hung my head. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said again, this time sincerely. The headmaster said nothing, and my heart began to feel heavy. Was this to be the end of all my ambitions, everything I had worked for - would it be taken away from me because I hadn’t known how to accept it unearned? I was more than learned enough already to go become an acolyte at some small provincial shrine, but I doubted my newly acknowledged social position would allow for that. It seemed, at that moment, that the court life would be all that was open to me.

“It’s been…” I began haltingly, in response to Headmaster Miki’s stony silence. “It’s been an honor to study here…”

“I told you not to _ grovel,” _ the headmaster scoffed, cutting me off once more. “You talk as if we were going to throw you out.” My head shot back up at that, eyes wide. Did he really mean…? “Oh yes,” he assured me, correctly reading my astonishment. “The Royal Academy of Fire Bending would need far greater cause to expel the son of the Fire Lord.”

“But I thought…” I protested weakly.

“Do you want to be expelled?” Headmaster Miki asked dryly, raising one eyebrow.

“No, sir!” I replied hastily. “I just thought...you were right, about how I...well, I lied to get in.”

“You did,” the headmaster agreed with a nod. “But I think even now you do not fully understand your position. Let me make this clear.” He folded his hands, leaning forward slightly on his elbows. “As a child of the Fire Lord - even an illegitimate one - this is your rightful place. You belong here.” Then, with something almost like a wry grin, he added, “But in the future, I expect your tuition will be paid out of the royal coffers.”

Amazed at this turn, I actually laughed. “I’m sure Zuko has every intention of that already.” Then, at another raised eyebrow from the headmaster, I corrected myself. “The Fire Lord, I mean.”

The headmaster shook his head. “I suppose I’ll forgive you a little informality, just between us,” he said. “After all, he is your father.”

I felt a pang of guilt, suddenly haunted by the memory of Aang’s eyes red from crying, less than a year ago. It made me feel unaccountably homesick, for all my relief at being told that this was where I belonged, here in the Fire Nation at the academy. What I really wanted was to be there, to pursue my studies and become a fire sage, but to do it all as Aang’s son.

But that, of course, would never have been possible.

* * *

Soon the headmaster let me go, after a few more questions and the decision that I would aid him in reviewing the new candidates who would apply for the military scholarship, now that it was opening up again. I gathered this would involve a great deal of paperwork, but even so it was a rather light punishment, and making Zuko pay for my education was hardly any burden on me, either. But the headmaster had also impressed upon me that now that it was known that I was the Fire Lord’s son, expectations would also be higher - not just for my academic performance, but for my overall comportment.

With that sobering thought, I was dismissed and told to go join my classmates for breakfast.

I wasn’t hungry enough to relish the thought of facing everyone in the dining hall, knowing they would all have been talking about me. Hoping for a few more precious moments of anonymous solitude, I decided to give breakfast a miss and head back to my room in the dormitories instead. But when I got to my room, I found Aza and Iyego waiting for me there - the former seated on the floor across from my door, the latter leaning against the wall next to it.

“Hey, Bumi,” Iyego said with ironic cheerfulness, arms crossed over his chest. “Anything interesting happen while you were gone?”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Aza scolded, as if I wasn’t standing right there. Looking up at Iyego from the floor, he wasn’t particularly intimidating anyway. “Isn’t he a prince or something now?”

“No,” I said sharply. Zuko had granted me a courtesy title in order to make me officially a member of the court, but being the lord of an island that ten people lived on was hardly an exalted rank. The whole point of going public, after all, was to reassure people that I was not angling for royal status. “I’m no prince.”

“Just a royal bastard,” Iyego said flatly, even his façade of cheerfulness gone. It made him sound more like his usual dour self, and that, in spite of the implied insult, put me more at ease than Aza’s anxious deference. Of the two, only Iyego had so far managed to look me in the eye.

“Believe me,” I said, matching Iyego’s disaffected tone. “I liked being a nobody a lot better.”

Iyego nodded, accepting the explanation as I opened the door and headed into my room. Like all the dormitories, it was not exceedingly spacious. My friends followed me inside, Aza shutting the door behind him as I threw myself onto the bed, and Iyego took the desk chair, slouching with his legs sprawled in front of him. Aza was left with the choice of either sitting on the floor again or remaining awkwardly on his feet, and settled on the latter.

“Was the Fire Lord really angry?” Aza asked. Iyego snorted at what must have seemed like a dumb question.

“Well, yeah,” I replied, rolling over onto my back and shrugging at the ceiling. “Whoever wrote those pamphlets was obviously looking to cause trouble.” And they had succeeded, I thought. Zuko was just doing damage control now. “But the truth had to come out eventually.”

“So they don’t…” Aza began hesitantly. “They still have no idea who did it?”

Before I could answer, Iyego scoffed again. “If the Fire Lord _ did _ know who was responsible, and hadn’t chosen to make that knowledge public, then Bumi would have no business telling the likes of _ us.” _

“Can we drop it?” I asked irritably, not wanting to admit that Iyego was right. I’d come here looking to avoid these kinds of questions, after all.

“Oh, sure,” Iyego replied. “Let’s talk about something else - like who you really are.”

“You know who I really am,” I shot back.

“Actually,” Aza said, making an awkward gesture with one hand, index finger raised as if trying to assert a point, “we kind of don’t. I mean, we _ thought _ we knew you, but then this…” He waved his hand vaguely in no particular direction. “Well, you’re not really from the old colonies, for one thing.”

“I lived in Republic City for years,” I argued, pushing myself up into a sitting position on the bed so I could look Aza properly in the face. He cast his eyes downward. “I went to school in Fire Fountain City, I served in the navy, I have two younger siblings back home - everything I ever told you about myself was true.”

“You have three younger siblings,” Iyego corrected me. “And you said you never knew your father.”

“I said my father wasn’t around to teach me firebending,” I replied, glaring at Iyego. “And he wasn’t.” But neither of my friends seemed assuaged by the technicality. Lies of omission were still lies.

“Look, it’s...whatever,” Iyego said with a shrug after a tense moment. “It was a big secret, we get it, you couldn’t tell us.” Aza opened his mouth as if to interject, but Iyego held up a hand to silence him, and his mouth snapped shut again. “We just want to know where we stand,” Iyego concluded.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed so I was facing Iyego. “You guys are my friends,” I said, looking between them. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Bumi,” Iyego replied, shaking his head. “You can be such an idiot sometimes.”

Soon enough, I would learn he was right. I may have been sincere in my friendship, but I couldn’t cover up the fact that everything had changed.

* * *

When I finally rejoined the general population of the academy, I discovered to my horror that I was now the center of a schism among the elite students and their families. Some, who had treated me with cool politeness before, were suddenly eager to be my best friends - presumably in hopes of currying favor via my newly discovered proximity to the Fire Lord. The rest, who had treated me no differently prior to the revelations, now wanted even less to do with me. These at least were more firm in their principles, unwilling to stoop to flattery, and unambiguous about their disdain for the Fire Lord’s dishonorable conduct that had led to my existence.

Aza’s father fell into the former category, and Iyego’s into the latter, which put both of them into an awkward position. Aza meant well, but subtle he was not, and I could always tell when he was parroting things his father had told him to say. Iyego, on the other hand, was so eager to defy his family that he made a point of being seen with me in public as often as possible. I found all of this exhausting.

My one consolation was that now that everyone knew Izumi and I were siblings, we would no longer need any pretense to spend time together. Izumi didn’t board at the lower school, obviously, so she didn’t spend as much time on campus as I did, but if she wanted to use her midday break to take a walk around the school grounds with her brother, this was perfectly acceptable. It was advantageous, even, since it further reassured everyone that the two of us were on friendly terms and not rivals for the crown.

Izumi didn’t even joke about such things anymore.

It was as we made our way through a maple grove on the outskirts of the school grounds on one of these walks, a few weeks after the big announcement, that she solemnly informed me the Fire Lord had received word from the chief of the Sun Warriors. Ran and Shaw’s egg had hatched - a young male dragon, healthy and sound, red in color like Roku’s mount had been.

“That’s good news,” I said, glad to have some for a change. I was still hoping that this happy event would take some of the focus of the court off of me.

“Well, yes,” Izumi agreed with considerably less enthusiasm, stopping under the shade of a tree. She reached out with one hand, idly tracing lines on the trunk. “But there was more to the message.”

“They were planning to offer the dragon to Zuko, right?” I asked, hooking one arm over a low branch. The tree wasn’t really big enough for climbing, so I kept both feet on the ground.

“They _ were,” _ Izumi replied. “But it looks like the chief had a change of heart.” She let her hand fall from the tree trunk, tucking her arms around her waist instead. “They’ve offered the dragon to _ me _ instead.”

I stared at my sister in amazement for a moment. Her head was bowed, as if under the weight of this offer. “Izumi,” I finally breathed. “That’s a great honor.” And I was only happy for her, so much so that I did not realize the full implication of what the offer meant.

“A great honor that Dad isn’t worthy of,” Izumi said quietly.

I stood straighter, letting my arm fall from the branch. “Is that what the Sun Warriors said?” I asked in disbelief.

“Not in so many words,” Izumi replied with a shrug. “But everything they said about me...Roku’s heir, redemption of Sozin’s bloodline, scion of a new era, promise of hope for the future of our nation...that was _ him, _Bumi.” She looked up at me, her eyes shining. “You know that was him. Until…”

“Until me,” I finished for her, understanding finally sinking in. I was the proof of Zuko’s moral failing, his betrayal of the hope his reign was supposed to represent. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his own fault, obviously,” she said with a huff of annoyance, blinking back her tears. “But everyone believed in him, you know? _ I _ believed in him. And if even he couldn’t live up to that...” She cast her eyes helplessly upwards, towards the canopy of leaves just turning to their autumnal shade of dark red. “How am I supposed to do it?”

I fought down a stab of anger in my heart as I reached out and took her hand. “You can,” I told her firmly. “You’re not…”

“Not like him?” Izumi cut me off roughly, her gaze snapping back to meet mine. “You don’t think everyone said the same thing about Dad and his father?”

“Well, they were right about that,” I insisted. The Water Tribes might have been less than happy with the Fire Nation, and sure the Avatar was no longer speaking to the Fire Lord, but war had not broken out over it. “Zuko’s not like Ozai. He’s made his own mistakes.” I took hold of Izumi’s other hand. “And maybe one day you’ll make your own, too, but my point is, the Sun Warriors have given you a blessing they never gave him.”

“They’ve only done it to insult him,” Izumi replied dismissively. “To tell everyone he’s not good enough.”

“Maybe,” I agreed with a shrug, not letting go of her hands. “But they’re also telling everyone that _ you _ are.”

“And how would they know?” Izumi scoffed. “They’ve never met me.” 

Everything I had read about the Sun Warriors, about their spirituality and wisdom came rushing into my head, and I was ready to argue the point on academic terms...but I stopped myself. When it came down to it, I’d never met any of the Sun Warriors, either. And a lecture on their culture wasn’t what Izumi needed.

“Well, _ I _ know you are,” I responded instead. “And I’m your older brother, so I think that counts for something.”

That got a little smile out of her at last. “Oh, now you want to play the older brother card,” she chided. It was the closest she’d come to her old joke about me taking her place in the line of succession.

“Yes,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m completely mercenary about it.”

A few weeks later, Izumi left the capital on her first official state visit without Zuko, to meet the chief of the Sun Warriors and accept his gift of the dragon hatchling.

* * *

I had sent off hasty, apologetic letters to Aang and my mother just before the official announcement, warning them what was coming. Around the same time that the news of the dragon hatchling had arrived, I had finally heard back from them.

Aang’s letter opened with a few terse, resigned words to the effect that he had known something like this would happen sooner or later, and he didn’t hold anything against me. He then went on to describe with far more enthusiasm his travels with Kya and Tenzin in the Earth Kingdom. After a formal visit to Ba Sing Se, they had gone on to Omashu to ride the mail chutes - which Aang insisted I would have to do myself someday, in honor of my namesake - and were heading to the Foggy Swamp next. Kya was looking forward to learning from the waterbenders there.

It made me miss them all, of course, but Aang’s letter was also a comfort in its own way. I was glad to hear things seemed to be better between him and Kya, and that my youngest siblings’ lives were going on undisturbed by the controversy swirling around me. As much as they could, at least. There was no mention anywhere in the letter of my mother.

She sent a reply of her own, which took a bit longer to get to me from the South Pole. It was a short message, which I still remember:

_ Dear Bumi, _

_ It couldn’t be helped, and it’s probably for the best. I hope your studies won’t be affected. I know how important they are to you. _

_ I’ll be staying at the South Pole for a while longer. _

_ Love, _

_ Mom _

I wrote a letter back to Aang, talking about how my studies were progressing as I always did, and sharing the news about the dragons, though I was sure he didn’t need me to tell him that. Since Kya and Tenzin were the ones off having adventures now while I was stuck in one place, I asked them to tell me about any interesting shrines or temples they visited. I had seen very little of the Earth Kingdom myself, after all.

Though sending and receiving letters could be complicated while they were traveling so much, my siblings did their best to comply with my request, and all of us kept up a friendly correspondence in which we managed to avoid all the difficult subjects, as if we were just a normal family staying in touch.

I made one or two more efforts at writing to my mother as well. But her replies were always so long in coming, and so curt, I soon found myself at a loss, and gave up. If she missed my letters, she never wrote to me to say so.

* * *

The notoriously reclusive Sun Warriors had given Izumi a warm reception, and she returned to the capital with a baby dragon in tow. To my immense relief, this finally did give the student body something more exciting than me to talk about.

But before the little dragonling was presented to the world, I was invited to the palace to meet him. It was the first time I had returned to the palace since my presentation to the court, and thus the first time I arrived through the private entrance without Izumi there to accompany me. I was met by servant who informed me that the Princess was waiting in the private gardens, and began to lead the way.

“I do know where the gardens are,” I said, not expecting anything to come of it. But to my surprise, the servant stopped and stood aside.

“Of course, sir,” he said, and held out one hand to indicate I could continue down the corridor on my own. “Will that be all then?”

“I guess so,” I replied, with rather less formality. With a stiff bow from the neck, the servant took his leave. “Huh,” I said to myself, under my breath. “I guess royal bastards are allowed to roam the palace.” Being a recognized member of the royal family was not without its advantages after all.

I knew my sister was waiting for me, and I was eager to see the young dragon of course. But I also relished this newfound freedom, and allowed myself to linger. The halls of the royal palace were adorned with countless works of Fire Nation art - tapestries and vases and paintings and statues, some very ancient, some quite new, a few that had been hidden away during Sozin’s reign recently restored to their places of honor.

The tapestry of the sun and moon spirits would certainly have been one such piece. For one thing, Sozin had outlawed anthropomorphized depictions of Agni, restricting the great spirit’s representation to only the stylized flame that was also the Fire Lord’s crown. For another, such a scene of cooperation between the elements would never have been tolerated during the war.

It was in front of this tapestry that I crossed paths with another visitor to the palace who was not allowed to wander the halls without an escort. Tenaguk was the ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe, a proud man with graying hair and hard ice-blue eyes. He had been present for my official introduction to the court, his blue and silver robes as flawlessly pressed then as they were now. Our interaction had only been brief, but I hadn’t forgotten him.

As he passed by, led by another servant presumably towards some meeting with the Fire Lord, I offered him a small nod and a “Good morning, ambassador.” Tenaguk halted, met my eye, and then glanced at the tapestry behind me. Belatedly, I realized that what had seemed to me an uncommonly friendly depiction of another element in Fire Nation art, might look quite different to Water Tribe eyes. The moon spirit was kneeling, after all, while Agni stood upright, clearly in the dominant position. And the Fire Lord’s bastard by a respected Water Tribe woman standing in front of it certainly did not suggest the most charitable of interpretations.

Tenaguk met my eye again, and then quite deliberately continued on his way without a word. The poor servant who was meant to be his guide had to scurry to keep ahead of him.

I let out a sigh of frustration once they had rounded a corner. Perhaps giving me free reign of the palace corridors had been a mistake after all. Deciding I had done enough damage, I hurried on to the gardens to find Izumi.

My sister wasn’t hard to locate. Wearing a relatively plain red dress, she was sprawled in the grass playing with the scaly, gangly creature I had come to meet. They made quite a pair, the princess and the dragon, like something out of a fairy tale. 

The little dragon was barely longer than Izumi’s arm, with delicate, dark red wings, and knobbly claws, still quite blunt. As I watched, it reared up on its hind legs, flapped its wings uselessly - for it was far too young to fly - and exhaled a tiny lick of flame, a rich orange in color and probably not very hot. Still, the flame looked like it came uncomfortably close to Izumi’s face, but she did not so much as flinch. Instead, she responded in kind, breathing fire back at the dragon, who fell back onto all four legs and scampered into her lap, making a mewling sort of noise that was, dare I say, almost cute.

Izumi ran one hand down the glossy scales on the dragon’s back, then looked up at me with a smile. “Bumi,” she said, picking up the little dragon and turning him to face me. “Meet Druk.”

I stared down at the little creature in awe, unable to keep myself from smiling as well. Objectively a baby dragon is nowhere near as majestic as an adult, but I had only ever seen the adults in pictures. This was a real, living, fire-breathing dragon before me, with bright, intelligent eyes that tracked my movements as I slowly crouched down in the grass next to Izumi. “He’s amazing,” I said softly.

At the sound of my voice, Druk shrank back uncertainly, but Izumi breathed another gentle flame against his cheek, which seemed to reassure him. “That’s what the mother dragons do,” Izumi explained at my questioning look. “If you show him your fire, too, he’ll probably feel better about you.”

Not feeling worthy of breathing fire at a dragon, I held out a small flame in my hand instead. Druk sniffed at it cautiously, then rubbed his cheek against my palm. Unlike a common lizard, his scales were warm to the touch.

“See, you’re a natural,” Izumi said. Druk withdrew from my hand, let out a smoky yawn, and then tucked his nose under one wing and let his eyes drift shut, apparently content to nap in Izumi’s arms now that I was no longer a stranger.

“Not as much as you,” I replied. Really, it was something to see how easily she interacted with Druk, almost as if she were a mother dragon herself. What a formidable Fire Lady she was going to make one day.

“Oh, please,” Izumi said dismissively. “I was completely hopeless at first. The Sun Warriors had to teach me everything.”

“What was it like?” I asked, still watching the sleeping dragon in her arms. “Meeting them?”

“Terrifying, really,” Izumi replied in a low voice. “They’re so serious, and so powerful, and you take one look at their chief and you just know you wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near them or the dragons if he didn’t allow it.” She shifted Druk slightly, and he lazily opened one eye, then closed it again. “But they know so much about firebending...it was a great privilege to be able to learn from them.”

“Of course,” I said wistfully. Izumi gave me a sympathetic look, but said no more. We both knew that, between the two of us, I could probably learn even more from the Sun Warriors than she could. But they would never allow it. The training, the dragon - these honors were for her, as the legitimately begotten heir to the throne.

I was only the Fire Lord’s bastard.


	8. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his first year at the Royal Academy draws to a close, Bumi faces a set of trials that will determine his future. Zuko gives Bumi some advice.

With the dragon’s arrival distracting most of my classmates from me, I was free to focus on studying for the upcoming exams. There would be the usual written and practical tests at the end of term, which did not concern me too much, but now that my first year at the academy was drawing to a close, it was time for me to undergo the trials that would determine my course of study in the years to come. Those students who could prove themselves in all three trials would go on to personal apprenticeship under Headmaster Miki himself, to learn the most advanced bending techniques. 

Those who did not make the cut would still receive a fine education, of course - the Royal Academy was the most prestigious school in the nation. But for the first time, something like ambition had taken hold of me. I had come so far in my studies, the thought of being denied the greatest opportunity to learn was maddening. So I threw myself into preparation, even beyond the standard training - extra hours of meditation, sparring and running through my forms, practicing my breath of fire, trying to increase the power of my bending which I had always felt lacking.

I was determined to pass all three trials. I would earn my place among the elite of the elite by my own efforts, and no one would be able to claim that I’d done it under false pretenses. I had come so far from that repressed young boy who wished he wasn’t a bender at all - now I wanted to be the greatest firebender of all time.

I was hardly the only student in my year working hard to prepare, of course. Everyone wanted to do well. So much was riding on the trials - and, as was customary, the Fire Lord himself would be observing our performance.

* * *

The first trial began at dawn.

There were thirty-two young men in my class, and we began the test as one. In unison, facing the rising sun, we ran through all the firebending forms starting from the most basic. There was no question that we were capable of executing these forms - this was a formality, a warm-up to the real test. Headmaster Miki was the only one watching us at this stage.

The sun was halfway to its zenith by the time we finished the Dancing Dragon form. We bowed to the headmaster, and he dismissed us for one hour’s rest before the second part of the trial began. This would be the real challenge, where the evaluations would take place. Having demonstrated our technical capabilities, we would now be expected to apply them. That meant we would have to spar with each other.

When we reconvened in the largest training room, Zuko was there, seated on a dias with Izumi beside him. It was the headmaster and our professors who would assess how we did, but the Fire Lord naturally took an interest in the up-and-coming elite firebenders. I did my best to avoid looking at him as I took up my position for my first match, against a stocky youth named Ryoke who was a few years older than me.

For all the technical skill and precision I had achieved in my bending, I was still at a disadvantage to many of my classmates in terms of brute strength. And while breath of fire might have worked against Izumi a year ago, it would not afford me much of an advantage now that I was facing some of the best firebending students in the nation.

A gong sounded, and the sparring match began. I fought hard, but Ryoke overpowered me in the end. In spite of myself, I glanced at Zuko as I made my way back to the sidelines. His face was impassive, acknowledging nothing, with perfectly schooled stoicism. Izumi, at least, gave me a small, reassuring smile.

It was far from the end. There would be more sparring matches, and then the next two trials to follow - for all students were expected to face all three trials, and there were no eliminations. But it was not an auspicious beginning.

* * *

I managed to eek out a victory in some of my later sparring matches, but nothing quite erased the sting of that first defeat. Even if my overall performance in the first trial was not bad, I had still failed to distinguish myself - and perhaps it was just my imagination that my classmates were whispering things like  _ mongrel bastard  _ behind my back when I lost, but I felt it all the same. This was my chance to prove I really belonged here, and I was blowing it.

The second trial, however, was one I felt more confident about. After the test of skill, we were now put to a test of endurance. At sunset on the following day, we gathered on the same eastward facing pavilion, the last rays of daylight now shrinking behind us. We knelt in a semicircle, Headmaster Miki and the other professors in front of us. Zuko was there as well, seated to one side as an observer rather than a judge. Izumi had not come this time.

Even though the light was rapidly fading, no lanterns or torches were lit. The evening air was chilly, but the candidates were stripped to the waist and barefoot. Headmaster Miki stepped forward to officially issue the challenge, though we all knew what was expected of us.

“Agni slips below the horizon,” the headmaster began. “But even when he is out of sight, he is with his true firebenders still.” He held his cupped hands forward, cradling a flame, small but bright. This was our cue to do likewise, and like the others, I brought forth my fire - a modest little flame like the one I had first innocently shown my mother all those years ago.

“Reflect upon Agni’s beneficence,” the headmaster continued. “Show us how strong is your connection to him.” With that, he extinguished his own fire. The sun having fully set, the only light aside from the distant stars came from the small dancing flames in the hands of the candidates. It was to be a moonless night.

And that was the challenge. With Agni at his most distant, without even his reflected light, how long could we maintain our own fire in the dark and the chill?

I let my eyes drift closed, taking a deep breath. Meditation was like an old friend to me, the first form of bending I had ever learned. Softly, I whispered the first line of the mantra of the four winds to myself. Firebending, after all, relied heavily on proper breathing, and in that I had better training than any of my classmates.

It never really got  _ cold _ in the Fire Nation, certainly not by my mother’s standards. But the night air against a bare chest was enough to hamper an incautious firebender. Without careful regulation of one’s inner fire, it would be easy to become exhausted, and quite literally burn out. None of my classmates were novices, of course, so this didn’t happen right away. But at some point, perhaps an hour or so into the trial, I was vaguely aware of one or two of the other lights around me going out. I didn’t see it, for my eyes remained closed, so much as I felt it.

The night crept on. Every now and then, another flame would die. I kept going. When I felt myself starting to shake - whether from cold or tiredness even I couldn’t say - I reached deeper, drawing the energy of my inner fire to spread throughout my body to keep me warm and awake, and the flame in my hands alive. I sank into that fire so completely it was like nothing else existed. If any more of my classmates dropped out, I didn’t notice. There was only the breath, and the fire - that same steady, comforting fire that had always burned inside me, even when I didn’t want it, even in those early years when I had no one to show me what to do with it.

We were alone again now, that fire and I. Perhaps that fire was all I had ever had, or ever would. But no sooner had this desolate thought occurred to me than I took notice of something else at last. It was like the feeling of sunlight, though I thought the dawn must still be far off, and instead of soaking into my skin, it came from beneath it. Reflect upon Agni’s beneficence, the headmaster had instructed us. And now I reached a new understanding of what that meant.

This fire inside me was not mine. The spirits had given it to me, had chosen me to bear it, for reasons all their own. The act that had brought me into this world had been selfish, a betrayal of friendship and a breaking of marriage vows. But that fire, that small spark of Agni’s divine light and warmth, had been placed within me nonetheless. It was a light to reveal the ugliness of what had been done, perhaps, but more than that. It could have been so much more, if only she hadn’t…

Whatever revelation I had been approaching, it quickly began to fade as soon as my thoughts took that turn. I tried to grasp at it, to draw it back, but it slipped away, and the cold of the air came back like a shock. I let out a shuddering gasp, almost a sob, collapsing forward as my eyes flew open and my own flame at last went out. I stayed like that for a moment, on my hands and knees, shaking.

“Bumi,” I heard Headmaster Miki say at last from above me. “That was…” I looked up as he trailed off uncharacteristically, and saw the first gray light of dawn breaking on the horizon behind him. “Impressive,” he finished at last.

Disoriented, I glanced around the pavilion. None of my classmates remained. The other professors were just lighting the lanterns to dispel what remained of the early morning darkness. I was the last.

I ran a trembling hand over my face, and only then realized that I was crying.

Zuko approached as I got to my feet, his expression still unreadable. “Headmaster,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve never seen anyone last all the way to the dawn before.” There were dark circles under his eyes, and the headmaster’s as well - they had kept their own night vigil, after all.

“Nor have I,” Headmaster Miki replied solemnly.

“I didn’t…” I choked out, but couldn’t finish the thought. How could I explain what had happened? I didn’t even understand it myself - neither what I had been on the brink of, nor why I hadn’t reached it. To my great embarrassment, I found myself crying fresh tears.

“You should rest, Bumi,” Zuko said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’ll speak to you later.”

Unable to speak, I could only nod in agreement. Yes, rest must be what I needed. I had lasted longer than any of my classmates, and was dazed in my overtiredness. That had to be the explanation. I offered a hasty bow to Zuko and the headmaster, then left the pavilion as quickly as my stiff legs could carry me.

* * *

The third trial was supposed to have taken place the following afternoon, but on account of my exceptional show of endurance, it was postponed until the next day, in order to give everyone a chance to be fully recovered. I was told after the fact, by the headmaster, that in all his years of conducting these trials, most of the students had burned out after four or five hours of unaided meditation. Rarely, one would make it past midnight. To make it to the dawn was unheard of, even unnatural.

I had wanted to distinguish myself in these trials, and I had gotten my wish. But somehow, there was no satisfaction in it. It didn’t feel like a success. I had experienced in that night vigil a moment of almost perfect clarity, and that  _ almost  _ was more frustrating than if nothing at all had happened.

So after collapsing like a lead weight into bed that morning and sleeping most of the day away, I woke in the late afternoon feeling rather grumpy and out of sorts. Vaguely I knew that I had been dreaming, something like one of the dreams about Avatar Roku I used to have while I was in the navy. My inability to recall the details now inexplicably annoyed me. The summons to the palace that came shortly after I awoke did little to improve my mood, but I grudgingly obeyed.

I entered the palace through the private entrance again. The guards were too well trained to let whatever opinions they had about me show, but in my sour mood I imagined that they gave me judgmental looks anyway. I had made myself presentable before coming, of course, but left my hair mostly down except for a small tail to keep it out of my face, a style which I knew only emphasized how Water Tribe I looked in spite of my red clothing.

To my surprise, I was shown not to the Fire Lord’s office, but to a small private dining room, where Zuko was seated at the low table. A full tea service was laid out before him, and though he was reading some official looking document, he rolled it up when I sat across from him and picked up the teapot instead.

“Here,” he said, pouring me a cup and sliding it carefully across the table. “This should help clear your head.”

I took a cautious sip, expecting the tea to be strong, which it was. But it was not bad. Zuko let me drink in silence for a few moments, during which I studied the dark grain of the polished wooden table top. True to his word, some of the fog of irregular sleep began to lift from my mind, but I was no more eager to talk to him for it. At least not about what had happened the previous night.

“The tea is good,” I said instead, in a lame attempt to avoid the subject.

“My uncle did manage to teach me a few things,” Zuko replied. I glanced up to see a hint of a nostalgic smile on his face. “I was never as clever at pai sho as he would have liked, though.”

I took another sip of my tea. “I’m pretty good at pai sho, actually.” Izumi and I had played a few times, and it was a popular game among students at the academy. I could win more often than not. But it was only a game.

“Do you still have the set I gave you?” Zuko asked, surprising me with his interest in this mundane topic. As a matter of fact, I did still have that gift, though not with me.

“It’s, uh, back at the house. In Republic City.” My answer was halting, dancing around the name  _ Air Temple Island,  _ which would have been uncomfortably close to the subject of Aang, best not raised between us. “But yeah, I’ve still got it.”

“That was my uncle’s suggestion,” Zuko confided, in the same nostalgic tone. “I had no idea what to give you.”

There was an unpleasant churning in my stomach, unrelated to the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to eat. “Do you think he knew…”

“I doubt it,” Zuko answered, not needing me to finish the question. “If he’d had any real suspicion of what had happened, he wouldn’t have hidden his disappointment from me.” He picked up the teapot again, refilling his own empty cup. “That’s one of the ways you remind me of him.”

I frowned at the implied accusation. It was true that I had never made much effort to hide my own dissatisfaction with Zuko from him, but what right did he really have to expect any different? “If you think I’ve been unfair…” I began hotly, but Zuko cut me off.

“No, not unfair,” he said, running the pad of one thumb around the rim of his teacup. The steam rising from his tea wafted lazily from side to side at the motion. “You’ve been very generous, I think, all things considered. But if you are still angry with me…”

“So what if I am?” I interrupted, setting my teacup down forcefully. Had it not been mostly empty, the liquid that sloshed around inside surely would have spilled over.

Zuko’s hand stilled and curled around his own cup. “I’m sorry,” he said plainly. “I know I can’t really apologize enough, and you’re entitled to feel angry. But I think it’s time for you to let that anger go, for your own sake.”

“For my sake?” I repeated, indignant. “Why? What’s it matter how I feel?”

Zuko looked me squarely in the eye. “Your feelings  _ do _ matter, Bumi.” I shifted uncomfortably, and looked away. “And not just to me,” Zuko went on. “The third trial…”

“The trial of heart,” I said, my voice rough. We both knew what that entailed.

“Yes,” Zuko replied. “If your heart is troubled, if you can’t find peace…”

“What makes you think I can’t?” I challenged, looking back at him, my chin raised.

“Because you can’t get through a conversation with me without rancor,” Zuko answered pointedly, raising his cup to his lips. “Because you keep even your friends at the academy at a distance.” He took a measured sip, then continued. “Because during the last trial you made some kind of connection to the spirits and it nearly devastated you. You are troubled, Bumi, and I know that’s partly my fault. But I…” He faltered at last, looking down at the teacup in his hand.

“You what?” I pressed him.

“In this last trial…” He set the cup down, and laid one palm flat on the smooth tabletop. His other hand rested in a fist, which I saw tighten when he spoke again. “I don’t want to be the reason you fail.”

I gripped my own teacup tightly, but did not pick it up. “You don’t want me to embarrass you, you mean.”

“No,” Zuko insisted. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

Well, he hadn’t been the one who had held me back, I thought. “What if it’s not about you?” I fought to keep my voice as steady as his, but a tremor crept in nonetheless. “What if I just can’t do it?”

“Then it will be an honest failure,” Zuko replied, “in which there is no shame.” I was silent, wary, the way my mother had first taught me to be. “Bumi,” Zuko went on. “If I can do anything more to help…”

“You can’t,” I insisted, pushing the teacup away from me. Because it _wasn’t_ about him, ultimately. That much I could admit, at least to myself, after what had happened last night... “I’m sorry. You just can’t.” I got to my feet. Zuko said nothing more, just watched me, pityingly. “I should get back. I’ve got to prepare for the trial.”

Zuko nodded in acquiescence, and dismissed me. As I left the palace, I convinced myself it was only the strong tea, on an empty stomach no less, that was making my hands shake.

* * *

For the third trial, we left the city, and headed down to the cliffs that faced south, away from the harbor. Although a day later than originally planned, the trial was still held in the afternoon, as this time of day provided the optimal conditions for the task we were to be given. The wind was blowing strong out of the east, gray clouds rolling across the sky, but the day was still warm.

Headmaster Miki addressed the candidates again, the other senior professors by his side. This time, the Fire Lord was not present.

“You have shown your skill, and your mettle,” the headmaster began. His eyes lingered on me on that last word, and I felt sure all of my classmates glanced my way as well. “Now it is your heart that will be put to the test.” He stepped forward from the other professors, two fingers of each hand held steepled in front of his chest. “Only the firebender who is master of himself will be able to master the cold fire.”

There was no sound but the wind, no reaction from myself or my classmates. We all knew what this trial entailed, as much as we had with the previous two. Headmaster Miki’s words were, once again, a mere formality.

“Observe,” the headmaster said. Then he executed the form we had all been practicing for the past several months, arms arcing in opposite directions. But unlike in our dry practice runs, he let the blue energy spark from his fingertips as he brought them back together, and then released the lightning into the gray sky above.

Then he stepped back into his place with the other professors. “Your turn,” he said, gesturing to the open space between us. “Iyego first.”

Iyego came forward and took up the opening stance, facing towards the cliffs, professors on one side of him and students on the other. I saw him take a deep, steadying breath. This was it, his one chance. Our instructors had made sure we all knew the form perfectly in theory, could execute the movements in our sleep. Now, it was up to us. Each of us was either capable of generating lightning, or we were not.

Iyego went through the form swiftly and precisely. Lightning burst from his hands, out over the cliff’s edge, piercing the sky above the water with a clap of thunder.

No one said a word. Iyego bowed to the headmaster, who returned it with a nod, then gestured for him to take up a place beside the professors. He had passed.

“Shinzo,” the headmaster called to the next student. And so it went on. One by one, each candidate got their chance. Some succeeded, and joined Iyego. Others failed, producing only common fire, and returned to the line of students. With every success, the air seemed to buzz with greater energy - but the failures outnumbered the successes.

Aza was called up about halfway through, and though the flames he produced had hints of blue in them, far hotter than his normal fire, this was still not good enough. He was sent back to his place, just two down from mine in the lineup. I tried to catch his eye, to show some sign of reassurance, but Aza kept his gaze trained steadfastly in front of him, stone faced. Outwardly, no one looked more in control than him just then, I thought. And yet he hadn’t been able to do it.

I was called up last, after what seemed an eternity of waiting. Though the wind had quickly blown away any smoke from the previous candidates’ efforts, a sort of charred smell lingered nonetheless. The clouds above had grown darker and thicker, and I even felt a few drops as I took up my position towards the cliff. But something like this could not be called on account of the weather.

I steepled my hands in front of me, just as Headmaster Miki had done. Gazing out at the water, agitated with the coming storm, I breathed in deeply through my nose. My inner fire flared, and I sank into that warmth, feeling it spread along all the chi paths of my body.

There was very little about chi paths in conventional firebending theory. I had first learned about them from waterbending, after all - watching my mother teach Kya how to heal, treating the Air Acolytes when they came down with any illness, years ago when my own bending had been nothing more than our special secret, hers and mine, forced into those dark, liminal hours at the start and end of the day.

Why had my mother let me sit in on those healing lessons, I wondered. Had she known I would be able to apply the knowledge to my firebending? Had she hoped it would help me keep it under control, keep it hidden? Whatever her reasons, it hadn’t been for nothing, in the end, though it had been hard, watching my sister bend freely, hearing my mother praise her…

I tried to push these unbidden memories aside and focus on the task at hand.  _ I don’t want to be the reason you fail, _ Zuko had said. If he only knew…

I released the breath I had been holding as I began the form, right arm arcing forward, left arm back, bring the opposite energies together, and  _ release... _

The sound was as deafening as any thunderclap, but the fireball that burst out of my hands in a riot of colors was decidedly not lightning. The force of the explosion sent me reeling backwards, and I stumbled, catching myself on one knee.

Breathing hard, I looked up at Headmaster Miki. He maintained his composure as he dismissed me back to the line of students with a wave of his hand, but I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes nonetheless.

As we made our way back to the city, the dark clouds overhead finally unleashed their rains on us in full force.


	9. Sins of the Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin visit their mother at the south pole.

When my first year at the Academy concluded, Zuko invited me to stay at court until the start of the next term, and even offered to let Aza and Iyego join me. Izumi urged me to take him up on this offer, but with everything that had happened, spending two straight months at court was the last thing I wanted - and I suspected the last thing most of the court wanted as well. I was eager to get away from everyone, even my friends, for a while. In the end, I pleaded a desire to see Kya and Tenzin again, and Zuko could not deny me that.

“Just humor me to give you once piece of advice,” Zuko said as he signed the official documents allowing me to leave the capital - for royal bastards could not roam the world at will. After carefully applying his seal, he set the parchment aside on his desk to dry and gave me a firm look. “Write to your mother.”

I frowned, as much at the twinge of guilt I felt as at the unwelcome suggestion. “I have written to her,” I protested. It had been months since my last letter, but Zuko had no way to know that. “She’s the one who’s not good at answering letters.”

Zuko hummed in consideration, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “Maybe you need to try again anyway,” he replied, and though I knew perfectly well what he was getting at, I feigned indifference.

“Maybe,” I said with a noncommittal shrug. And to my relief, Zuko let the matter drop.

Returning to Republic City was quite different this time. There was no anonymous passage on a steamer or working my way there, but a first class cabin reserved for me on an airship, the far more stylish and luxurious way to travel. My fellow passengers were a mix of old Fire Nation elites, whose politeness towards me covered their disdain, and the United Republic’s nouveau riche, who seemed to find me intensely interesting. It was fortunate that my cabin was so comfortable, because I spent most of the trip hiding in there.

Traveling by airship also meant that rather than arriving in the harbor, where it would have been an easy transfer to the Air Temple Island ferry, we came in to the new airship station in the heart of the city itself. Aang was there to meet me, and so were dozens of that new class known as journalists, eager to see how the Avatar would receive his wife’s illegitimate offspring upon his first public return.

I don’t know what they were expecting, but judging by the murmur from the crowd when Aang immediately grabbed me into a hug, that wasn’t it. As glad as I was to see him again, and as much as I wanted to believe this was an entirely sincere greeting, I couldn’t help but feel it was a bit pointed. Both Aang and I maintained a careful silence as we pushed our way past the curious onlookers, several of whom called out questions, trying to get a quote for their papers. Aang also kept one hand on my back until we had made it out of the station, a fatherly gesture that staked his claim over me as much as the hug had.

The newspapers certainly got the message - the society pages the next day would all be in agreement that however poorly things stood between the Avatar and his wife since the shocking revelation of her betrayal, Aang was not content to give up the child wholly to the Fire Lord. These might not have been the best headlines in political terms, and I certainly didn’t like the idea of Aang and Zuko fighting over me. But it was impossible for me to not also be a little relieved, to see the proof that Aang really did still want me.

Appa was waiting for us outside the station. “I thought you’d prefer a more private trip to the island, after that,” Aang said apologetically, his hand still resting in between my shoulders. He gave the base of my neck one last affectionate squeeze before he let go and leaped up to his usual spot on Appa’s head.

Without airbending to help me, I had to climb up the saddle more slowly. “That’s probably a good idea,” I agreed. The ferry would have been full of curious onlookers as well. “Is it like that everywhere now?”

With a flick of the reins, Appa rose into the air. “Not most of the time,” Aang replied. “And even the reporters still respect the sanctity of the island.” He turned and gave me an apologetic shrug. “You might not enjoy spending time in the city much anymore, though.”

I gave a noncommittal hum and leaned forward, folding my arms on the rim of the saddle and resting my chin on top. “I was mostly planning to stay on the island anyway.”

There was a stretch of silence between us, as the air temple in the distance loomed closer. It wasn’t a long flight from the city to the island, for Appa moved much faster than the ferry. At last, Aang spoke up again.

“I have to leave in a few days,” he said softly. “The Northern Water Tribe needs me. If you don’t have any big plans...you could come with me.”

Aside from the disastrous summit a few months prior, I had not accompanied Aang on any of his Avatar business. And I had never traveled with him, though I’d heard from Tenzin and more recently Kya as well how much fun that could be. The invitation meant a lot to me, and I wanted to accept it.

“I’d love to,” I replied. “But…” I trailed off, hesitating to explain why I couldn’t.

“The North Pole isn’t like Republic City,” Aang reassured me, mistaking the reason for my hesitation. “You’d be able to move about freely, really enjoy yourself. And it is beautiful, a whole city made of ice…” He glanced over his shoulder again, saw the way I was frowning, and dropped the travel pitch. “If you’re worried about what the chief will say…”

“It’s not the chief,” I cut him off. “It’s the court. The Fire Nation court.” I hesitated again. “Well, maybe the Water Tribe chief, too, actually,” I added, recalling the cold shoulder I’d gotten from the northern ambassador last time I’d run into him at the palace. But that wasn’t the main point. I took a deep breath, and forged ahead with my explanation. “But the Fire Lord’s son can’t just go on diplomatic missions to other nations without the court’s approval.”

There was another moment of tense silence. The words  _ the Fire Lord’s son _ hung heavy in the air between us. “I hadn’t thought of that,” Aang said at last, regretfully but not without a slight edge of anger.

“I’m sorry,” I replied quickly. “I really do want to go, it’s just a stupid protocol, and…” I shrugged helplessly. “And I think things are strained enough between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes on my account.” My intrusion into diplomatic affairs, as going with Aang on this trip would inevitably be seen, could not be well received by either party.

Air Temple Island was close in view now, but instead of landing near the house and the barn where Appa slept, Aang directed the bison to touch down in one of the more remote parts of the island, nothing but grassy field. This would give Appa a chance to graze. It would also afford Aang and I a few more moments just between the two of us before my siblings joined us.

“You know you don’t have to apologize to me,” Aang reminded me after I had dismounted and joined him on the ground.

“I know,” I said sheepishly. Aang had told me as much before, but I still sometimes felt that guilt.

“I’m not angry at  _ you,” _ Aang insisted, placing one hand on my shoulder again. There was no one around to see this time, so I knew it was unaffected, a statement solely for my benefit.

“I  _ know,” _ I repeated with greater emphasis, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Aang thankfully said no more on the subject after that, and we headed towards the house where Tenzin and Kya were waiting for us.

I knew Aang wasn’t angry at me. I knew who he  _ was _ angry at, and even shared some of his anger. That didn’t make it any easier, for either of us.

* * *

Since I couldn’t accompany Aang to the north, he next suggested that I go somewhere else with Kya and Tenzin - my brother had his own sky bison by that point, so the three of us could take a trip just about anywhere we liked. I mulled this over, remembering my conversation with Kiyi, and proposed to my siblings that we should go to the south pole instead to visit our mother.

Tenzin immediately took to the idea. I think he just wanted to see our mother again, and in his ten-year-old mind it was that simple. Kya was more reluctant, but seeing herself outvoted, she eventually gave in. However great her resentment was towards our mother, she was still the only waterbender of the three of us, and had more to look forward to on a trip to the Southern Water Tribe than either Tenzin or I did. 

When I told Aang what we had decided, he didn’t seem surprised, nor did he make any attempt to dissuade me. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said, but with that same edge in his voice - not directed at me, never at me, but ever-present nonetheless. Even if he hadn’t had his own plans already, I knew Aang would not have offered to come with us.

So the three of us set out for the south, flying on the back of Tenzin’s bison. Oogi was still technically a juvenile, so while he was big enough to carry three people with ease, he couldn’t fly quite as fast as Appa. We made several stops in the Earth Kingdom along the way, though by unspoken agreement we bypassed Kyoshi Island and the Southern Air Temple and anywhere else where we would encounter anyone who knew our parents personally.

Of course, once we reached the south pole, this was unavoidable. Everyone there knew our mother, and most had at least met Aang.

Kotak, the new chief of less than a year, came out to meet us himself. I didn’t miss the scrutiny with which he looked me over, but as I had tactfully exchanged my Fire Nation red clothes for Water Tribe blues before our arrival, he found nothing obvious of which to disapprove. “Welcome, children of the Avatar,” he said, looking at Kya instead of me. “Or I should say, welcome home. For you are children of the Southern Water Tribe as well.”

“We’re glad to be here,” Kya replied politely. If she noticed the way Kotak had avoided naming our mother directly, she didn’t seem bothered by it. Tenzin, at least, frowned a little.

But as Kotak showed us around the city, which had grown tremendously since the last time any of us had been there, he seemed content to speak to Kya as if she represented all three of us. As the waterbender, I suppose she did have some standing there that Tenzin and I did not. And Kotak was not exactly rude to us - he did answer our questions when we raised them, always happy to discuss the latest building projects and other business of the tribe.

As for the various other people we were introduced to - some newly resettled from the north, some old acquaintances and distant cousins who remarked on how much Tenzin and I had grown since our last visit - they were all equally friendly and welcoming, even if some were a bit awkward about meeting my eye. The ugly truth that everyone now knew, the uncomfortable facts that no one wanted to address, were glaring in their unacknowledged absence from all conversation.

It was only when Kotak showed us to Sokka’s house - currently empty, as he was in Republic City - and told us this was where we would be staying, that I worked up the courage to raise the subject that was clearly on everyone’s mind.

“What about our mother?” I said as Kotak ushered us into the main room of the house, where a fire had been banked in anticipation of our arrival. It was a loaded question, about far more than our accommodations, and the chief clearly knew it.

“She no longer lives among the tribe,” he replied tersely. “You may not be familiar with the custom…”

“But we came here to see her!” Tenzin protested, tapping the end of his staff on the floor in frustration.

“And you may,” Kotak said patiently, overlooking the childish interruption. “No one would begrudge you that. But no one will go with you, and she may not return here.”

“Ever?” Kya asked in alarm, eyes going wide.

Kotak looked at her again, with something like pity. “That is not for me to decide.”

Kya nodded in understanding, and I took the chief’s meaning plainly as well. But Tenzin did not. “Who gets to decide?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Kotak was clearly distressed at the idea of having to explain such a thing to a child. “Don’t worry,” Kya said before he could find the words to begin. She put an arm around Tenzin’s shoulders, though it didn’t seem to reassure my brother much. “I’ll explain.”

The chief nodded, his relief evident. Kya thanked him for his hospitality, and he took his leave.

“Okay, explain,” Tenzin demanded as soon as Kotak was gone, shrugging off Kya’s arm. “What custom is he talking about? Where’s mom?”

A dark shadow passed over my sister’s face. She knelt by the firepit, stoking the glowing coals - I could have had the fire going much faster, but didn’t think it prudent to say so just then. “She betrayed her family,” Kya said bluntly. “Betraying your family is betraying the tribe, and traitors get exiled.”

“That doesn’t…” Tenzin began, but whatever his protestation was, it died weakly. “If they…” he began again, haltingly, gripping his staff against his shoulder with both hands. “If they kicked her out, why wouldn’t she come home?”

The low flames Kya had coaxed into life cast dancing shadows around the darkening room as the daylight faded. “Probably for all the same reasons she left in the first place,” she replied bitterly, setting down the fire poker and standing up straight. She reached out to Tenzin again. “You know her staying here to help the chief was only an excuse…”

“Don’t say that!” Tenzin cried, pushing her hand away angrily. “You’re wrong!” He looked to me, eyes pleading. “Bumi, tell her! Mom would never…”

But even Tenzin must have realized how useless it was to appeal to our mother’s virtue at this point, and to me of all people.

“We’ll go see her tomorrow,” I said instead. “Then she can explain herself.”

This mollified my brother somewhat. “And when will her exile end?” he asked, turning back to Kya, the evident expert in Water Tribe customs. “Who gets to decide, if not the chief?”

Kya and I exchanged a look, knowing Tenzin would not like the answer. “Only the person she betrayed worst of all can bring her back into the tribe,” Kya said softly.

Seeing that I was apparently in on the secret, Tenzin looked back to me for clarification. “You mean…”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching out to him as Kya had done earlier. He did not push me away. “It has to be Dad.”

Tenzin’s face fell, though he said nothing. Even he couldn’t pretend Aang was anywhere close to ready for that.

* * *

The next day, we took Oogi and headed out to the inlet, several miles from the town, where we had been told our mother had set up her hermitage. And that really was the best word to describe the little ice hut she lived in, nestled on the headland of a narrow bay. It was a spartan dwelling, with no adornment of any sort, so different from the elegant new houses back in the town.

As for our mother herself, we found her outside, setting up a tent that would be used as a makeshift smokehouse. She hadn’t been expecting us - since no one from the tribe spoke to her anymore, no one had told her we were coming - and as we landed and dismounted, I caught just a glimpse of something like hope fading from her expression.

Belatedly, I realized that from a distance she could easily have mistaken Oogi for a different sky bison, and thought it was someone else who had come to her at last.

Still, even if the smile she greeted us with didn’t reach her eyes, she was glad to see us. But it was a shock to me to see her at first. The plain blue dress she wore looked careworn. Her hair was pulled back in a simple tail, with more gray in it than I remembered, and there were worry lines around her eyes. I’d been taller than her since I was a teenager, but I’d never before thought she looked so small.

It had only been a little less than a year since I had seen my mother last, but she seemed to have aged tremendously in that time. 

The changes in her appearance didn’t seem to trouble Tenzin, who ran to her waiting arms with all of his usual childish energy. Kya and I were a bit more subdued, and approached more cautiously, but were met with hugs all the same.

“Look at the three of you!” she said, still holding Kya close to her side. “What are you all doing here?”

“We came to see you, of course,” Tenzin answered, tucking himself back under our mother’s other arm.

She gave him and Kya another squeeze with each arm, and guided them towards her little house. “Well, I didn’t know you were coming,” she said apologetically. “But I have some tea and seaweed biscuits. Let’s go inside.”

The interior of the ice hut she lived in was no less glamorous than the exterior. It consisted of a single room with a sunken fire pit in the middle, food stores and other necessities stacked haphazardly against bare walls, and a sleeping area half hidden behind a curtain. But it was warm, even if it was too spartan to be called cozy. 

My mother hastily fetched cushions from the sleeping area for us to sit on, then busied herself with fixing the tea. She made traditional Water Tribe tea, brewed strong and served mixed with heavy cream and salt. It was a hearty drink for a harsh climate that I found overpowering, my palate having grown accustomed to the subtler brews of the Fire Nation. But my mother’s seaweed biscuits were as good as I remembered, and that was comforting. One thing, at least, hadn’t changed.

But it was just about the only thing. As she served us our tea and made small talk about Kya and Tenzin’s travels in the Earth Kingdom, my mother’s cheerfulness was obviously forced, and I couldn’t help but notice the old dirty dishes in the washbasin - something she never would have left like that at home. I met Kya’s eye at one point and knew she had noticed as well. When our mother finally sat down with us, she continued to wring her hands in her lap.

“And what about you, Bumi?” she asked at last. “How are...well, how is school going?” Her nervous fidgeting stilled, but I got the impression she was more anxious rather than less.

“It’s been…” I began hesitantly, turning my teacup slowly in my hands. I hadn’t written to her about the trials, or much at all since the scandal had come out. But those didn’t seem like topics we should discuss in front of my siblings. “Well, not so bad, all things considered.”

My mother looked uncertain if she should press for further details, but Tenzin spoke up before she could. “Mom, enough about us,” he said impatiently, setting down his empty teacup. “When are you coming home?”

My mother’s face fell, and she reached for his hand. “Tenzin…”

“The chief doesn’t want you here anymore,” Tenzin went on, grasping her hand with both of his. My mother flinched at this blunt pronouncement, but Tenzin didn’t seem to notice. “So you have no reason to stay here,” he said brightly. “You can come back with us!”

“Sweetie,” my mother said softly, patting Tenzin’s clasped hands. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, why not?” Tenzin pressed her.

My mother looked away, towards the sealskin hung over the doorway of the house. “Your father…” She left the thought unfinished, but I knew exactly what she meant.

Tenzin scowled. “You’re still blaming him?” He yanked his hands away and got to his feet, his voice rising. “You’re the one who lied, Mom. And you’re the one who left. So as far as I can see, you’re the one ruining our family, not him.”

“Tenzin!” Kya exclaimed reproachfully, as my mother closed her eyes and bowed her head. “He’s just upset, he doesn’t mean that, Mom.”

“Yes I do!” Tenzin insisted. “Stop acting like you know everything, Kya!”

“Enough!” I said, standing and taking Tenzin roughly by the shoulder. I steered him back outside, leaving Kya to deal with our mother. “Walk with me,” I ordered Tenzin, guiding him along the shore of the bay. He shrugged off my hand angrily, but obeyed.

“Well?” Tenzin said after we had walked in silence for a while, kicking at the loose stones on the beach. “Are you going to defend Mom now?”

“No,” I replied, shoving my hands in the pockets of my borrowed parka. “You’ve got every right to be mad at her.” Spirits knew  _ I _ of all people couldn’t criticize my brother for that. “But we didn’t come all this way just to fight with her - or with each other.”

Tenzin worked the toe of his boot under a flat stone about the size of his palm, then kicked it into the air, caught it, and threw it at the water - not gently so that it would skip, but hard, so it came down with a loud splash. “I’m starting to wonder why we bothered to come at all,” he said darkly. “She doesn’t want us, does she?”

I had thought that, once, about myself - that I was a burden to my mother, that she would have been happier without me. “That’s not it,” I tried to reassure my brother. “Family means everything to her, but…”

Tenzin rounded on me. “Then why is she  _ here?”  _ he shouted.

I waited a moment before I answered, looking my brother in the eye. He was fighting tears, and I knew he wouldn’t like the answer, even if on some level he already knew it.

“Dad hasn’t forgiven her,” I said at last. Aang was hardly the only one guilty of that, but I knew it was his forgiveness that mattered most. “It’s like Kya said - she needs that from him before she can come out of exile.”

“But that’s just some Water Tribe custom,” Tenzin protested, making a fierce, dismissive gesture with one hand. “None of us care about that.”

I reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “She does.”

“Right,” Tenzin said, as he shrugged out of my grip once again. With the back of his hand, he wiped at his eyes. “She cares about her stupid Water Tribe rules more than she cares about us.”

I was beginning to feel a bit impatient with my brother at this point. But before I had the chance to muster any defence of those “stupid Water Tribe rules” that my brother scorned so easily - and which I, admittedly, did not fully understand myself - we were interrupted by an indignant voice behind us.

“Tenzin!” Kya shouted, marching down the beach towards us. The look she gave him was so livid that I grabbed her by the arm as she reached us, afraid she might hit him. Kya struggled against me like Tenzin had, but I did not let her go so easily.

“You can insult Mom, and you can insult me,” Kya was still shouting at him. “But  _ you _ don’t get to insult the tribe like that!”

I tried to intervene with some calming words, but both of my siblings ignored me.

“I’ll say what I like about the tribe!” Tenzin shouted back, stalking closer so he was yelling right in Kya’s face. “Ever since Mom left you think you can take her place by bossing me around all the time, but you can’t!”

“Alright, enough!” I said more forcefully. Still holding Kya by the arm, I pushed Tenzin away from her with my other hand. “None of this is helping…”

Kya turned her withering glare on me. “No one asked you, firebender.”

“Kya!” I objected. She had never called me  _ firebender _ like that before, using it as an insult. We had been raised to respect all the nations, and to hold anyone’s element against them was strictly forbidden. Even Tenzin, who had been mad at me a moment ago, looked shocked at what she had said.

“Kya,” my mother’s voice echoed softly. She had come out of the house while we were all too busy yelling at each other to notice. “That’s not fair.”

Kya met our mother’s eye and raised her chin defiantly. But it was Tenzin who spoke up. “None of this is fair!” he shouted at her.

In the face of his anger, my mother could only shrug helplessly. “You’re right,” she agreed. “It’s not fair to you.”

She said nothing else, only looked at each of us slowly, imploringly, in turn. Somehow, that ended the argument, thought it didn’t really settle anything. We were a dour company that stayed with her the rest of that day.

* * *

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Casting off my fur blanket, I threw it over Tenzin, left the sleeping mat we shared by the fire pit, and dressed and went outside.

The moon was full, hanging high in the clear sky over the glassy water of the inlet. I walked a few paces along the rocky shore on the southern side, then climbed onto a large boulder that projected out over the water. The stone was very dark, probably volcanic, although there were no volcanoes at the south pole. It must have been carried there from far off, or up from some great depths, by the force of the ocean. Water was a powerful element, indeed.

On the opposite shore, I noticed two figures, both the same stature. One stepped out onto the water - or onto the ice that hadn’t been floating on the surface of the water a moment ago - and the other followed her. It was my mother and Kya.

I knew they had these midnight waterbending lessons sometimes, though I had never witnessed one before. If they spoke to each other, I was too far away to tell, but soon they were dancing around each other, their element surging through the air in waves and ribbons. It was a sight to behold, two skilled waterbenders at the height of their power. The sparring match was intense, and everywhere their feet landed, the water turned to solid ice just long enough to support them, before melting back into water with each new leap. That must have taken a lot of concentration, I thought. Perhaps that was why neither of them saw me across the way.

But then Kya missed a step, and plunged headlong into the water. My mother immediately dropped her water whip and threw up both of her arms, drawing Kya back to the surface with a great waterspout. She landed on the ice platform my mother was standing on, collapsing against her, shaking - and not, I suspected, entirely from the cold. I looked away, embarrassed, feeling like I had intruded on something private between my mother and my sister.

In the light of the full moon, my own reflection was almost as clear in the water as in a mirror. I was still wearing blue, trimmed with white fur, my hair loose, and it was so easy to imagine...Bumi of the Southern Water Tribe. If I had only been born a waterbender like Kya, that could have been my life. Everything would have been so much easier, for all of us.

I frowned, and my reflection frowned back at me.

I must have sat there longer than I realized, because the next thing I knew I heard my mother’s voice behind me, softly calling my name. I started round and saw her there, her hair loose and wild like mine, arms hanging by her sides. Kya was nowhere to be seen - she must have sent her back inside.

“How long have you been out here?” my mother asked.

I shrugged. “A while.”

My mother hummed in acknowledgement of my answer, then came and sat next to me on the rock. She looked down at the glassy water, as I had done a moment ago, where our two reflections now made a nicely matched pair. I had always favored her side of the family in looks. No one would have ever seen a resemblance between me and Zuko, really, if they hadn’t known to look for it.

If I had been born a waterbender, my mother would have been the only one who knew to look for it. My mother, and Zuko himself - and would either of them have said anything?

“Did you ever apologize to Dad?” I asked suddenly.

My mother looked up at me, a slight crease forming between her brows. “Did I ever apologize to…”

“To Aang,” I clarified with some annoyance. Zuko might be my father, but only Aang was  _ Dad.  _ It seemed my mother had never noticed the distinction I was so careful to make.

My mother sighed, her eyes falling - not back to the water, but to her own hands, once again fidgeting nervously in her lap. “Of course I apologized to him.”

She said it very convincingly, though I didn’t know if I should believe her. From what Aang had said back then -  _ it wouldn’t have happened if I had been there for her _ \- it rather sounded like she had thrown accusations at him instead. But it had undoubtedly been a tense conversation, and perhaps many things had been said.

“What about Zuko?” I pressed on.

My mother hesitated before answering this time. “Yes,” she said at last, softly. “I apologized to him, too.” I knew she couldn’t be telling the whole story there. So many secrets, even now. But that wasn’t really what concerned me.

“So why didn’t you ever apologize to me?” The question came out sounding plaintive, even childish. So many people’s lives had been upset, and here I was saying  _ what about me? _ But in all these years, through all the secrets and tearful excuses and regrets and  _ I shouldn’t have’s,  _ I had never actually heard her offer a direct apology. Not to me.

She was silent for a long time, and I began to worry she was not going to answer. But at last, she reached over and took hold of one of my hands in both of hers. “It’s not that I never...felt remorse,” she said carefully, holding my hand close to her heart. “For what I’d done, and for what I’d made you do. But you were…”

“What was I?” I prodded when she trailed off into silence. Her burden, her shame, her mistake, her punishment - what was the meaning she assigned to my existence? That was what I needed to know. “Tell me, Mom. What am I?”

She raised her eyes to meet mine, and they were full of tears. “You are my son,” she said, as if it were really so simple. “You are my beautiful, brave,  _ firebending _ son, and I love you - I have  _ always _ loved you - just as you are.” One hand let go of mine, and caressed my face. “How could I apologize for the fact that you were born?”

The night had been still up until that moment, but with my mother’s declaration came the first breeze - gentle, just enough to tug at my loose hair and hers, but it cast ripples over the water, distorting our reflections. I stared down at them again, watching them bend and blur.

“You loved your firebending son,” I said roughly, “so much that you tried to put out my fire.”

“No,” my mother protested. “Bumi, I never wanted…”

“What did you want?” I cut her off. “What did you think would happen, when I was six years old and you told me it was going to be our little secret? Did you think I would just go the rest of my life watching you and Dad and Kya and Tenzin all bend freely and that I would never...that I would be  _ happy _ hiding like that forever? That I would be  _ okay?”  _ I pulled my hand out of her grasp and got to my feet, turning my back on her and the deceptive waters below. “Did you really think there wouldn’t be  _ consequences?” _

I waited for the excuses, the explanations, the tearful protestations and attempts at consolation that I wished I could believe.  _ I was scared, I didn’t think, I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have.  _ They didn’t come. Instead, my mother had gotten to her feet as well, and gently took hold of me by the elbow, turning me to face her once more. She put her other arm around my neck, and pulled my head down to her shoulder so she could hold me. “Bumi,” she whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I stood still in her arms as the words sunk in. It was what I had wanted from her, what I’d asked for. I waited for the pieces to all come together, for a moment of clarity like what I had almost had during the second trial, for the weight I’d been carrying to disappear. None of those things happened, but after a moment I found I could bring my arms up to return the embrace, and I realized the shoulder of her dress was wet with my tears.

“Mom,” I said weakly, sounding small and childish again. “Mom, I...I  _ failed _ …” She held me tighter, and gasping through my tears I went on. “The trial of heart...I couldn’t…”

“Shh,” my mother replied, rubbing soothing circles against my back. “I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

I pulled back, stunned. “How could you…” I felt very much like a child again now, bewildered by how my mother seemed to just know things.

She smiled sadly up at me. “It was the first letter he wrote to me in over twenty years,” she said, and even if the fact that she couldn’t say his name hadn’t been enough of a clue, I didn’t have to ask who she meant.

I thought about how easily Zuko had granted my request to leave the court and visit my family, and his pointed suggestion I write to my mother. Had he guessed that I would end up coming here? Had he known all along I needed to confront her?  _ What if it’s not about you, _ I had said to him - perhaps he had understood my meaning better than I had at the time.

“It’s dangerous for him to write to you,” I protested, thinking of the further scandal it would create if anyone found out. The Fire Lord sending secret letters to his former paramour would not be looked on kindly, no matter how innocent the content of those letters might be in fact.

My mother pulled me close again. “He only wrote once,” she said reassuringly. “And only because he was worried about you.”

Like her own apology, this revelation brought no dramatic moment of clarity or relief. I felt no more capable of producing lightning than I had before coming to the south pole, but perhaps I was one step closer to finding peace.

At any rate, when we returned to the house and I lay down beside Tenzin on the mat again, I fell into an easy sleep.

* * *

We spent another two weeks at the south pole, alternating our time between the town and our mother’s hermitage. Things remained tense between all of us, and Kya and my mother had frequent waterbending lessons from which they would return with one or the other - or sometimes both of them - clearly having been crying. But there were no more major arguments between us. Not until the day it was time to leave.

We said our goodbyes in the town first, finishing with Chief Kotak, who earnestly entreated us to make another visit soon. For all the Water Tribe’s moral stringency, they did not hold the sins of the mother against her children, at least. Kya answered on our behalf that we would make every effort to return when we could.

From there, we took Oogi out to the inlet again. Our mother was waiting for us this time. She hugged Tenzin, kissed his forehead, and said something softly so that only he could hear which didn’t quite get him to smile, but at least made him frown a little less deeply. When she hugged me, it was another apology that she whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I haven’t written much,” she said this time. “But I do love to hear from you.”

“I’ll write more often,” I promised as I let her go.

Then she turned to Kya, but to my surprise, did not hug her. Instead, she seemed to wait for her to say something.

“Right,” Kya spoke up, squaring her shoulders and looking up at me. “I guess this is where we say goodbye now.”

“What?” I asked, blinking in surprise.

“You didn’t tell them?” my mother said reproachfully.

“I’m telling them now,” Kya replied, her tone hasty and defensive. She lifted her chin with affected resolution. “I’m staying here with Mom.”

“How can you do that?” Tenzin protested. Kya ignored him, but my mother put a comforting arm around his shoulders, and he didn’t push her away immediately.

I frowned at my sister. “When did you decide this?”

Kya shrugged. “Shortly after we got here.” She folded her arms in front of her. “I think it’s the best arrangement for everyone. Mom doesn’t have to be alone, and I can continue my waterbending lessons, and Dad and Tenzin can do their airbender stuff without me tagging along.”

“But we  _ liked _ having you along, Kya!” Tenzin insisted. “Didn’t you like coming with us?”

Kya finally looked at him. “Of course we had fun, Tenzin,” she said, and I got the distinct impression she was trying very hard to sound grown up. “But let’s be realistic - Dad doesn’t travel just for fun. And you don’t need my help with the air temples or anything like that.” She forced a smile. “Besides, you're the one who wanted me to stop bossing you around, right?”

“I didn’t mean you should  _ leave _ us,” Tenzin shot back. Kya sighed, and I decided to intervene.

“You’ve obviously given this some thought,” I conceded. In fact, I suspected she had been thinking about it even before our arrival at the south pole. Hadn’t I wondered myself, when Kya would have her own turn at running away? It seemed the family script was playing out again. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

“I already wrote to Dad,” Kya replied, evading the question. “I told him Mom needed me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother shift slightly at this, a sign of more guilt, perhaps. But if keeping Kya with her gave my mother one more reason to feel guilty, at least she wouldn’t be left alone with all her regrets this time.

I placed both hands on Kya’s shoulders. “Then I won’t try to change your mind. Just...remember that you can come back any time you want.” She shouldn’t have to be an exile, just because our mother was.

Kya nodded, her relief evident. “I know,” she said solemnly.

“That’s it?” Tenzin said scornfully. “You’re just going to let her do this?”

“It’s her choice,” I admonished my younger brother. It might not be the best choice, but Kya would take it even more poorly if I tried to boss her around than Tenzin took it when she did it to him. And though I understood why my brother was upset, I also remembered how sad and how small my mother had looked when we first arrived, and I wasn’t entirely sure Kya was making the wrong decision.

But Tenzin was unconvinced. Pushing my mother’s arm away, he scowled at Kya. “You’re as bad as she is,” he said darkly. Then, with a furious burst of airbending that left all our hair and clothes windswept, he leaped onto Oogi’s saddle.

“Tenzin!” Kya called after him. But my brother ignored her this time.

“He’ll come around,” I tried to reassure her, hoping I was right. Then, hugging my sister goodbye, I said softly so only she would hear, “Take care of her.”

“I will,” Kya replied firmly. It was a lot of responsibility to place on her - she was still only fourteen, after all. It wasn’t fair to her. Like my mother had said, this situation wasn’t fair to any of us.

But it was the way things were, and none of us were the one person who could change it.

* * *

Tenzin passed the first day of our trip back to Republic City in stony silence, and I let him have that until we landed to make camp that night.

“Look, I get why you’re mad,” I said to him across the campfire as we settled down into our sleeping bags. “Kya shouldn’t have sprung it on us like that. But don’t you see why she felt like she had to stay?”

“No,” Tenzin insisted stubbornly, lying on his back and staring straight up at the stars. “I  _ don’t _ see why.”

“Well, for one thing, I think Kya just...she’s a girl,” I tried to explain, though I knew that wasn’t the primary reason for her decision. “I guess she needs Mom for some things. And Mom...well, Mom probably needs her, too.”

Tenzin pulled his sleeping bag tight around him, arms scrunched up inside. “Mom needs her,” he echoed skeptically. “But she doesn’t need us?”

“She needs  _ someone,”  _ I clarified, rolling onto my side to face him fully. The heat from the low fire shimmered in the cool night air between us. “You saw what she was like...being alone was terrible for her.”

“And she can’t come home, because Water Tribe rules,” Tenzin replied, his dull tone indicating he still hadn’t fully bought into that explanation. He shut his eyes, and was silent for a moment. I nearly thought he had drifted off to sleep until he spoke again. “I just wish…” His voice caught.

“What do you wish, Tenzin?” I asked gently.

“I wish everyone didn’t keep leaving,” he finished miserably, screwing his eyes shut tighter. “I wish someone would choose to stay with me and Dad for a change.”

“Hey,” I said, fighting off a stab of guilt as I sat up. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to be with you. I come back and visit whenever I can.”

Tenzin was not appeased, his breath coming in short gasps now as he tried not to cry. “And Kya?” he choked out. “Is she gonna visit too?”

“Maybe,” I answered carefully. I certainly hoped she would, but if Mom couldn’t come home, I knew Kya would be loath to leave her. “You know she didn’t want to choose sides…” I added softly.

“She wouldn’t have to if it weren’t for you,” Tenzin shot back, his voice rising. “I wish...I wish you weren’t a firebender.”

“I used to wish that, too,” I admitted. “But, Tenzin...that wouldn’t change what happened. Mom and Dad would still…well, things still wouldn’t be okay between them.”

Tenzin rolled over so his back was to me, then muttered darkly, just loud enough for me to hear, “Then I wish you were never born.”

I lay back down with a frustrated sigh, but said no more. Like my mother, I refused to apologize for that.

On the rest of our trip back, we spoke nothing more of consequence to each other. When we arrived on Air Temple Island, Aang was there, and based on how unsurprised he was when Tenzin immediately ran to his room and slammed the door, I knew he had already gotten Kya’s letter.

“I tried,” I offered lamely in response to Aang’s questioning look. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with him.”

Aang nodded, then hesitated for a moment. “How was…” he began, but stopped himself. “You don’t regret going, do you?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, staring at Tenzin’s closed door. I had gotten something out of the trip, perhaps, and my mother was probably better off now that Kya was with her. But overall, had it made things better or worse? That remained to be seen. I looked Aang squarely in the face and added, “You’re the one she’s really waiting for.”

A dark cloud passed over Aang’s features. “Bumi,” he said firmly. “Let’s not go there.”

“Alright,” I relented, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.” Pushing past Aang, I headed towards my own room. It wasn’t late, but the journey had left me exhausted in more ways than one.

“Of course I know,” I heard Aang say from behind me, his voice low and sad.

* * *

Before I returned to the Fire Nation, I made one last stop in Republic City, to visit Sokka. Whether my uncle was surprised to see me, or just surprised I had come alone, I wasn’t sure, but at any rate it was the first time I’d spoken to him since the scandal had broken.

“Bumi,” he greeted me cautiously, eyeing the red clothing I had donned once more.

“Hey, Uncle Sokka,” I replied with a wry grin. “Long time no see, huh?”

That was all it took to break the ice. Sokka laughed, clapped me on the back, and ushered me into the tastefully decorated sitting room of his posh ambassador's house. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he said good-naturedly. “Have a seat.”

As I settled myself on one of the plush sofas, Sokka went to a cabinet on the other side of the room and fetched one of the many bottles it contained, as well as two glasses. “Normally, I’d offer you tea at this hour,” he said, setting the glasses down on the low table in front of me. “But I have a feeling this conversation calls for something a little more fortifying.” A generous pour of amber colored liquid went into each glass, and he pushed one towards me. I took it just to be polite, and returned the salute Sokka gave me with his own glass, but only took a token sip. Sokka, of course, took a much healthier swig of his drink.

“So,” my uncle said casually. “How’s firebending?”

“Firebending is...fine,” I answered. I hadn’t come to discuss my academic issues. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“Maybe later,” Sokka replied. “When there aren’t flammable liquids around.” He waved his glass expressively to make his point, and it still amazed me how he could do that without spilling. It was almost like he had some latent, hyperspecific waterbending talent himself.

I held up my own glass and contemplated it. “You know,” I said, rubbing my chin. “I bet this would do wonders for my breath of fire…”

“Oh no,” Sokka said, snatching my glass and setting it back down on the table. “Not with my best whiskey, you don’t.”

I nudged the glass away from me with the toe of my boot. “Your best whiskey is wasted on me, anyway,” I admitted. “I don’t drink.”

“Your loss,” Sokka said with a shrug. He then picked up the glass and carelessly poured its contents into his own - once again, without spilling a drop.

“So,” I said, leaning on the arm of the sofa. “When was the last time you were at the south pole?”

Sokka let out a low whistle. “You want to have  _ that _ conversation sober, huh?” He took another sip of his drink as if to brace himself. “Well, to answer your real question, yes, I did visit her.” He looked down into his glass, frowning. “And if you did, too, then you know why it didn’t do any good.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “She really has to stay there until…”

“Until your father forgives her,” Sokka finished, then gave me an awkward glance. “Aang, I mean.”

“Right,” I agreed pointedly. “My father.”

Sokka drank again, then swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass. “I’m glad you two have worked that out, at least.”

“It seems like a harsh punishment,” I said cautiously. Kya had objected strongly to any criticism of Water Tribe customs, and while I knew Sokka was not so staunch a traditionalist, upholding the ways of the Southern Water Tribe was quite literally his job.

“It is severe,” Sokka agreed, holding his glass still. The liquid inside continued to swirl - the consequences of the action far outlasting the action itself. “But what she did was severe, too.” He gave me a strange look, almost pitying yet somehow stern. “I wonder if you realize just how bad it was.”

“Of course I realize,” I protested, offended at the suggestion that I didn’t. I had realized a long time ago. “What she did was selfish, and a betrayal of family...of everyone, really, since it put so much in jeopardy. It was…” I searched for the right word, one that conveyed the gravity of the crime adequately. “It was indefensible,” I settled on at last.

“Indefensible,” Sokka repeated, noticing my careful word choice. “Interesting. Would you say it was unforgivable?”

Would I? I had to think about it. Had I forgiven my mother, for everything? No, not fully. Not yet. But I wanted to. I had gone to the south pole because I wanted to forgive her, I had asked her to apologize because I was trying to forgive her, and some part of me wanted Aang to forgive her just to prove that it could be done, to show me how. A father was supposed to teach his son by example, right?

But even if he couldn’t do it, I still wanted to believe it was possible. “No,” I finally said. “Not unforgivable.” I shrugged and added, “But it is also how I got here.”

“And yet you don’t drink,” Sokka said wryly, then drained the last contents of his glass.

“Does drinking help?” I asked skeptically.

“Nah,” Sokka replied, setting down his empty glass forcefully. “You’re probably better off - a drunk fire sage is no good.” At my astonished look, he grinned. “Oh yes, I know all about your ambitions. Your father and I do still talk, you know.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said, and though I was glad at the news, my mind was already racing ahead. “So if he’s been talking to you, then...why do  _ you _ think he hasn’t gone to her yet?”

Sokka hummed in consideration, scratching at his neatly trimmed beard. “Well, I don’t know how much he’s said to you, but...let’s just say I have my theory.” He reached for the bottle of whiskey again, but only to replace the stopper. “Aang’s a big forgiveness guy, always has been. And that’s to his credit. But this…” Sokka got up and returned the bottle to his liquor cabinet. “This was  _ personal,” _ he said, shutting the cabinet door. “And that’s different.”

I didn’t follow Sokka’s reasoning. “Wasn’t losing his entire people when he was a child pretty personal too?”

“Oh, that hit him hard, don’t get me wrong,” Sokka replied, turning to face me. “But forgiveness for that was a pretty abstract thing. The people who’d done it were all long dead, and nobody he knew. It’s not the same as being betrayed by someone you love.”

“But if he loves her,” I protested.  _ If,  _ like there was any doubt, though I realized with a dull sense of dread that my mother must have doubted, if not all those years ago when she was lonely, then certainly now. “If he loves her, shouldn’t that make it easier to forgive her?”

Sokka gave me a pointed look. “Has it been easy for you?”

“No,” I admitted readily. “But that’s me. I’m not…” I dismissed that train of thought with a wave of my hand, then pointed accusingly at my uncle. “Like you said,  _ he’s  _ supposed to be the biggest believer in forgiveness out of anyone.”

Sokka sat down again opposite me and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees with his palms pressed together. “You know, before the war, there was no marriage among the Air Nomads.”

I frowned in confusion at the apparent change of subject. “Yeah, I know. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Aang learned about forgiveness from the monks,” Sokka explained, rubbing his hands together slowly. It was far more deliberate, not at all a nervous gesture, but I couldn’t help but think of my mother’s fidgeting hands. “But the monks practiced detachment from the world. There were no marriages, no families…” Sokka shook his head sadly. “I don’t think they could have prepared him for something like this.”

No one had prepared  _ me _ for something like this, either, I thought. Was it even possible to be prepared for it? “Well, isn’t it about time he figured it out?” I muttered.

Sokka gave me a patient smile. “Easier said than done, Bumi.”


	10. Sage Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumi completes his studies, examines the past, and faces the future.

I returned to the Royal Academy for my second year of studies with a firmer sense of who I was and how I fit in to the school. True, I was not in the elite class of students, and would probably never be a great sage at the temple of Agni in the capital. But all it took was the second year excursion to Roku’s temple on Crescent Island for me to realize that the capital was never where I had been destined to end up. For it was this temple, in which I had never set foot before, and the great statue of Roku there, which I had never laid eyes on, that I had seen so often in my dreams as a place of refuge.

Consoled by this realization, I was content with my position at last, for I finally knew that I was on the right path.

The next three years were not exactly uneventful. Izumi came of age, and undertook more and more diplomatic missions on the Fire Lord’s behalf. Druk grew from a scrawny hatchling to a juvenile who stood taller than I did. The authors of the pamphlets that had outed me were finally caught when they took up their seditious activities again, this time in favor of overthrowing the monarchy altogether. Aza became engaged to a girl from a titled but impoverished family, the ideal match for a wealthy commoner, and Iyego’s father, in continued opposition to my existence, resigned his post as minister of agriculture and retired to his feudal estate. 

Though I never did succeed in bending lightning, after long and intensive reading on the nature of fire as a blend of different energies, supplemented by correspondence with Aang, I managed to adapt the form to manipulate the type of light produced by my fire. Thus I was able to properly control the multi-colored flames I had inadvertently produced on my first try. The technique became known as dragon’s fire, and Headmaster Miki presented me with a special commendation for this achievement at the end of my third year.

But for my family outside of the Fire Nation, little changed in that time. My mother and Kya remained at the south pole, and though with Kya’s help my mother was much better at keeping up with correspondence, she paid no visits to anyone, and so, as I had feared, neither did Kya. At most my sister left the isolated hermitage to go into the town for supplies, dutifully returning to our mother’s side after a day or two.

Aang and Tenzin continued to travel together, visiting the ancient air temples, all of which now housed settlements of Air Acolytes, the flourishing city at the north pole, and all manner of odd places in the Earth Kingdom. Noticeably absent from their itinerary were any stops in the Fire Nation, for the Avatar couldn’t exactly pay a visit to the country without meeting the Fire Lord. For similar reasons, they never made their way to the south pole, either.

I did make my way there, once a year for a short visit during the long school break. I could see first hand that having Kya with her had been good for my mother - she no longer looked so fragile, fidgeted less, and even smiled more often. But still none of those smiles reached her eyes, and the weight of her guilt - and her grief - continued to etch new lines on her face with each passing year.

Forbidden from contact with the rest of the tribe, my mother could no longer offer her waterbending skills for healing or instruction, outside of her lessons with Kya. But at Kya’s insistence, they both took up needlework, and my sister was able to sell the slippers, shawls, and pillow covers that they sewed and embroidered to the residents of the town, and even some of the merchants who passed through. Kya had no love or great skill for the craft, and did it just to support them, but my mother’s talent began to earn her back a modicum of respect from the tribe - though no amount of respect could induce them to forget their traditions.

I also visited Republic City every chance I got, when Aang was actually there - an increasingly rare occurrence, as he and Tenzin took up a more truly nomadic lifestyle with no non-airbenders to root them in one place anymore. Though Aang was always glad to see me, things never quite settled between me and Tenzin. I knew from speaking to Kya that he had stopped writing to her, and the correspondence between Kya and Aang was now the only direct link between the two factions into which our family had split, with me caught in the middle somehow. I think Tenzin would have preferred it if I had made a clean break as well, stayed in the Fire Nation and ignored him. That way he would have been able to write me off completely, even pretend I didn’t exist.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

* * *

My fourth and final year at the Royal Academy of Firebending was drawing to a close. I had written to the fire sages at Roku’s temple and been accepted to enter as an acolyte there after graduation. This would require renouncing the title Zuko had given me, but that was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make, for court life held no more appeal for me than it ever had.

But I had not quite escaped yet. Three weeks before graduation was the Dragon Day festival, the latest of several ancient holidays that Zuko had restored to the calendar during his reign. It would be celebrated that year for the first time in over a century, and as part of the festivities, I had been asked to perform a special demonstration of the dragon’s fire technique for the court.

This meant spending much of my time in the days leading up to the festival at the palace, participating in the preparations. But on the positive side, Izumi was of course heavily involved as well, and we were even allowed to bring friends with us. Izumi invited a girl she knew from her time at the Academy’s lower school. Keira was the daughter of the Lord High Admiral of the Fire Navy, and she had been among the faction that took my side when the scandal broke - I suspect because her father had felt indirectly gratified by my own short naval career.

I, of course, brought Aza and Iyego with me. It was not their first stay at the palace. Iyego had grown up as part of the court, and Aza had found his way there as my guest on previous occasions - to the immense satisfaction of his father, who could now boast to everyone else in the silk trade of his son’s royal connections. But they had both remained peripheral enough to court life to still be nervous around Zuko - Iyego moreso than Aza, in a reversal of my expectations. Fortunately, Zuko was busy enough that outside of the festival preparations, Izumi and I, and our friends, were mostly left to our own devices.

On one mercifully quiet afternoon, I somehow found myself alone. Aza had complained of not feeling well and gone to his room to rest, and the others were off on pursuits of their own, unknown to me. I didn’t particularly mind. The five of us had spent rather a lot of time together over the last few days, and I was especially glad to get away from Keira, who was just a touch too obvious in her attempts to flirt with me.

I took this time to myself as an opportunity to catch up on my reading. The palace library was not as extensive as the Academy’s, but it did house the royal archives, and I had recently discovered that the diaries of Fire Lady Ilah - Zuko’s grandmother - gave a fascinating perspective on the court during the war years.

A modest, unassuming woman, Ilah had been all but forgotten by the official histories, usually only noted in genealogies as the mother of Iroh and Ozai, having died giving birth to the latter. But her private diaries revealed her to be keenly observant of political affairs both foreign and domestic - observant, and opinionated. She expressed doubts about many of her husband’s policies, and a great concern that her then-only son should be a different sort of Fire Lord from his father.

I found it strikingly poignant how often she wrote of playing pai sho with Iroh. Apparently, it was she who had taught him the game.

But that afternoon, as it was a lovely spring day, I decided that rather than sitting in the stuffy library, I would bring my reading outdoors, into the gardens. There was a spot by the fountain that was perfect. Book in hand, I headed there.

It turned out I was not the only one who had thought of the fountain, though Izumi and Iyego were not there to read. The first thing that surprised me, when I spotted them from the colonnade around the garden, was how closely they were sitting to each other on the rim of the fountain. Izumi was looking down into the water, one hand idly tracing ripples across the surface, and as I watched, Iyego leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said, Izumi smiled coquettishly in response, and laid one finger over his lips to silence him.

I cleared my throat pointedly.

Iyego startled to his feet, and Izumi’s face turned crimson, and if the moment I’d caught them in hadn’t been intimate enough, their reactions to being interrupted left no doubt as to the nature of what I’d seen.

“Um,” I began ineloquently, glancing between my sister and my best friend. “How long has this been going on?”

Izumi’s eyes were fixed on the ground, but Iyego met my gaze defiantly. “Bumi, you know as well as I do that Izumi doesn’t need the protective older brother routine…”

“Doesn’t she?” I interrupted him, planting one fist against my hip.

Izumi finally looked up to glare at me, her cheeks still flaming red. “No, I don’t.”

“Alright,” I said, raising my hand open-palmed in a gesture of surrender. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Iyego, but hearing it from Izumi was more important. “I’m just...surprised, I guess.”

The two of them exchanged a nervous look, and then Izumi got to her feet, taking a step towards me. “Don’t say anything to Dad, okay?”

I frowned, letting my hand fall back to my side. “Wait, he doesn’t know?” Izumi was twenty years old and the sole heir to the crown, so naturally the question of her marriage was a matter of state. There was talk of a possible offer from the Earth King’s younger son, though this had yet to materialize. If Izumi had other intentions, the Fire Lord needed to be informed.

“Well, he wouldn’t exactly approve, would he?” Iyego replied, stepping forward and taking hold of Izumi’s hand. “My father certainly wouldn’t. You don’t.”

I didn’t take kindly to the accusation. “What I don’t approve of,” I said firmly, pointing at Iyego, “is the two of you sneaking around.”

“Don’t make it sound so sinister, both of you,” Izumi complained. “We haven’t done anything wrong. I’ll talk to Dad when I’m ready to.”

I gave my sister a hard look. The flush had left her face, and I could see that she was in earnest about her intentions. In the back of my mind, I wondered how she and Iyego could have grown so close without my realizing it. But there were other concerns at the forefront.

“You’d better talk to him soon,” I said warningly. “Before someone else starts talking to him on your behalf.”

Izumi knew exactly what I was alluding to. “I am not going to marry Prince Kenji,” she said resolutely.

“Great,” I replied sarcastically. “Does the Fire Lord know that?”

Izumi blushed and cast her eyes down again, and I knew I had made my point. Iyego gave her a tender look - what an odd expression that was to see on his usually dour face - and pulled her close, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. I turned away, leaving the garden to find some other reading spot.

I was halfway down the hall when I heard Iyego calling after me. “Bumi, wait!” I stopped to let him catch up, raising an expectant eyebrow. Iyego drew himself up to his full height. “I’m sorry I kept this from you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know I’ve given you a hard time about keeping secrets in the past. But Izumi…”

“I get it,” I cut him off. And I did understand. As the crown princess, Izumi had lived under scrutiny since she was born. Of course she would want some part of her life to be private. “And I meant what I said. I don’t disapprove.”

“Well, good,” Iyego said, a bit stiffly. “Not that Izumi needs your approval or anything,” he hastily clarified. “But I wouldn’t have liked to lose a friend over it.”

I offered him my hand, and he shook it, and that was settled between the two of us. But we both knew it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered. The simple fact was, Izumi  _ did _ need someone’s approval. And while Zuko would hardly want to deny his daughter anything so important to her, he had already learned the hard way that following his heart was not always the best option.

I prayed Izumi wasn’t about to discover the same lesson.

* * *

The Dragon Day festival was a great success, and my firebending demonstration, while cooly received by those in the court who remained steadfastly against me, went off flawlessly, and captured the interest of those who saw me more favorably. I found myself explaining over and over again how I had gotten the idea from my unsuccessful lightning attempt, how the way that water droplets in the air bent sunlight to make a rainbow had helped me realize that the light produced by fire could be similarly bent - and I was always careful to point out the Avatar’s role in helping me come to this realization.

Keira of course latched on to my arm at some point and insisted on introducing me to her father. The Admiral and I spoke amicably about my time in the navy, and he made ostensibly joking suggestions about enticing me back, though he was not quite able to hide his disappointment when I explained I was going to be an acolyte at Roku’s temple.

Eventually I excused myself and retreated to where Aza was seated with his fiancée and her mother. Lady Ushi had always been kind to me, and her daughter Zenia was a similarly gentle soul. Lord Ushi had died two years previously, leaving his wife and daughter all but destitute, and though it was obviously a marriage of convenience for both families, I thought Aza and Zenia well suited to each other.

“You’d think he could manage to look a little more cheerful at a party, at least,” Aza commented wryly to me, nodded at Iyego across the room. Iyego was staring at the floor as the minister of the treasury spoke to him, clearly not listening. Izumi was nowhere nearby.

I shrugged, and went for the easy excuse. “Well, he’s not exactly in his element here.”

“It is a shame how his father treats him,” Zenia said sadly, and her mother hummed in agreement.

Iyego’s father was one of the few nobles who declined the invitation to come to the capital for the festival, pleading the difficulty of traveling so far from his family estate in his old age. Iyego, who knew his father had always been hale and spry, had not been fooled, but neither had he been surprised. His father could not outright disown him for his friendship with me, but while continuing to support his son financially, he had cut off virtually all other contact, and all of Iyego’s older brothers had followed his example.

“Every family has its troubles, I guess,” I replied philosophically. I’d certainly seen plenty.

I had said no more to Iyego or Izumi about their relationship since the previous day, and watching them throughout the festival, I could see they were being discrete. I was looking for the signs, and I barely saw them - just the tiniest glance here, a hint of a smile there, but otherwise they were the picture of decorum in public. I did make a point of escorting Izumi back to her rooms at the end of the evening’s festivities, and if Izumi saw through this, she could hardly object in front of everyone.

But as soon as we were alone in the corridor outside her apartment, she smacked me on the arm. “I thought I told you I didn’t need the protective big brother routine,” she scolded under her breath.

“If I have no reason to be protective,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone light and teasing. “Then you have no reason to be angry.”

We came to a halt in front of her door. “Maybe,” Izumi replied darkly, turning to face me full on. “Maybe I just don’t like you acting like I’m some dumb slut who can’t be trusted.”

That stung. “Like my mother, you mean?” I said, utterly failing at levity.

Izumi hit me again, harder this time. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” I muttered, rubbing the spot where her fist had made contact with my shoulder.

Izumi folded her arms and gave me a hard look for a moment. “You can’t keep using that as an excuse forever,” she said at last.

“An excuse?” I repeated incredulously. 

“Yeah, an excuse,” Izumi doubled down. She took a deep breath, blinking. “You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know?” Her voice was low, but trembled with anger. “Dad lets you get away with saying all kinds of nasty things because he feels guilty, but at some point you have to grow up.”

“You want to talk about growing up?” I challenged, pointing at her. “How about you stop acting like a lovesick schoolgirl and let the Fire Lord in on the discussion of who his heir is going to marry?”

Izumi narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she spat, swinging her arms forcefully to her sides. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. And you’ll be there when I do.”

“Fine,” I echoed.

“Fine!” she repeated again, unnecessarily, voice rising.

“Good night,” I said angrily, opening the door for her.

Izumi said nothing else in reply, but swept into the room and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

When Izumi and I marched into Zuko’s office the next day, he glanced up from the report he was reading, then closed the file and set it aside. “Izumi,” he said before either of us could speak, reaching for a green scroll with a large golden seal. “This just arrived from the Earth King.” He held it out to her with a gentle smile. “It’s for you.”

Izumi was an experienced diplomat by that point and knew how to keep her face carefully neutral. But after taking the scroll, she simply stared at it without opening it.

“Well, go on,” I encouraged her pointedly. If the scroll contained what I thought it did, it was what we had come to talk to Zuko about, after all.

Izumi glared at me, then broke the seal. Unrolling the scroll, her eyes scanned quickly over the page. Her eyebrows shot up, then drew together. “It’s an invitation.”

Zuko folded his hands on his desk, but said nothing. “An invitation?” I repeated in surprise. “An invitation to what?”

“The Earth King is pleased to request your attendance at the marriage of his son Prince Kenji to Princess Evika of the Northern Water Tribe,” Izumi read off. Lowering the scroll, she looked at Zuko. “Did you know this was coming?”

Zuko shook his head. “Our ambassador in Ba Sing Se seems to have known nothing about it,” he replied, pointing to the file he had been reading when we came in. “At least, there’s nothing about it in her latest report. And the Earth King’s ambassador here certainly hasn’t said anything.”

“Wait,” I said, leaning over my sister’s shoulder to read the invitation as well. Sure enough, it was as she had said. “I thought the Earth King wanted his son to marry Izumi.”

Zuko shrugged. “So did I. But those were only ever informal suggestions.”

Izumi seemed to have other concerns for the moment. “The invitation came addressed to me?” she asked, flipping it over to double check.

“Yes,” Zuko replied. And there was Izumi’s name next to the golden seal.

“Just me?” Izumi asked pointedly. 

Zuko nodded. “So it would seem.”

Izumi tossed the open scroll onto Zuko’s desk and took a seat, slouching in her chair. “Great,” said sarcastically, as I sat down next to her. “So the Earth King is making an alliance with the Water Tribes, and shutting you out.”

Zuko picked up the invitation and looked it over himself. “I imagine the northern chief would have insisted on that point,” he said regretfully, then looked at Izumi over the top of the scroll. “But you are more than capable of representing the Fire Nation at an event like this.”

“Hm,” Izumi grunted as her only reply, still staring at the back of the invitation in his hands.

Zuko set down the scroll. “I would have thought you’d be happier about this news.”

Izumi looked up at him curiously. “Why?”

“Because it leaves you free to entertain  _ other _ suitors,” Zuko said pointedly. Then, with a conspiratorial wink in my direction, he added, “Like the charming young Iyego.”

Izumi gaped at him. “You know about that?”

Zuko smiled. “I know the scar fools people,” he said, tapping one finger against the left side of his face. “But both of my eyes work just fine.”

Izumi and I both scoffed in unison at this lame joke.

Zuko waved a dismissive hand at our unimpressed reactions. “At any rate,” he said more seriously, fixing Izumi with a level stare. “Am I mistaken in thinking you are quite set on him?”

Izumi’s cheeks pinked again, just a little bit this time. “I hadn’t planned on saying anything so soon…” she demurred.

“I see,” Zuko said, then looked to me. “Bumi, Iyego is the same age as you, right?”

“Uh, about a year younger, actually,” I replied, caught off guard by the question.

“Then that’s two years before he’ll be able to marry without his father’s consent,” Zuko said thoughtfully. It went without saying that Iyego’s father would not be consenting. “We should wait at least six months before announcing an engagement,” Zuko went on in the same tone, half talking to himself. “You’ll have to be the one to propose, of course, since you outrank him.” He looked back down at the invitation. “If he attends Prince Kenji’s wedding with you, you’ll need a chaperone…”

“Wait, Dad, slow down,” Izumi cut in, sitting up straighter and leaning towards him. “That’s it? You’re just...okay with this?”

Zuko blinked up at her in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked to me again. “Is there some reason I should object to Iyego?”

“No, he’s fine,” I replied hastily. Iyego wasn’t the most sociable person, but I knew he was a loyal friend, hardworking, and he valued honesty. Izumi could do far worse. But politically, she could also do far better. “I just thought you might prefer someone...better situated.”

Zuko gave Izumi a questioning look, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.

“Izumi,” Zuko said gently, leaning towards her across the desk. “Did you really think I would try to force you into a loveless political marriage?”

“Like you and Mom?” Izumi replied, eyes still downcast. 

I shifted uncomfortably. The late Fire Lady was hardly ever spoken of, at least in my presence. I wondered how much she might have had in common with Fire Lady Ilah. Forgotten women, both dead before their time, who had both deserved better from their husbands.

After a moment of tense silence, Zuko got to his feet, came around the desk, and crouched down next to Izumi’s chair, taking her hand in both of his. “You know I was very fond of your mother.”

Izumi nodded, and Zuko squeezed her hand. But I looked away in embarrassment. For all three of us knew, no matter how fond Zuko had been of his wife in the end, she was not the woman he had loved.

* * *

Zuko spoke to Iyego privately after Izumi and I left his office, a meeting from which Iyego emerged looking rather pale, but also pleased, as much as I ever saw him look pleased with anything. From then on, he was treated as an official suitor to the crown princess, which meant they were always chaperoned, and my protective big brother routine that Izumi found so insulting was rendered superfluous.

Graduation soon came upon us, and our time at the Academy officially came to a close. Zuko made a fine speech at the ceremony, remarking on all the accomplishments of our class and charging us to put our talents and education to use for the greater good of our nation. But it was one controversial passage that everyone would remember.

“I would be remiss as a father,” Zuko said towards the end of his speech. “If I did not acknowledge my own son among this graduating class.” There was a murmuring from somewhere behind me, but I steeled myself against turning to acknowledge it as Zuko went on. “Like any parent, I take pride in his achievements, and I can say without any false modesty: he is a better son than I deserve.”

The murmuring ceased, though I caught a cynical scoff from another quarter. My face hot, I looked down at my hands as Zuko wrapped up his speech with some last general words about undeserved blessings and the duties incumbent upon us to use our gifts well. Seated next to me, Aza nudged me gently with his elbow and gave me a sympathetic wince.

Glancing at Iyego two rows in front of us, who sat with his head bowed, I reflected that there were worse things than having your father embarrass you at graduation.

There followed after the ceremony a whirlwind week of activity for all of us, preparing for what was to come next. Aza would be married in less than a month’s time, at which point he and Zenia would take up residence on the Ushi estate and try to make it profitable once more, with the financial backing of Aza’s father. Iyego would remain at court, nominally working for the minister of education as he had originally been set to do, but his role as Izumi’s intended would be even more important. And I of course would head to Crescent Island to enter the temple as an acolyte.

Our little band was going our separate ways, and for the first time there was no assurance we would all see each other again in the new term. More than any of my classmates from Master Genshi’s school in Fire Fountain City or my shipmates in the navy, I realized I was genuinely going to miss Aza and Iyego. After all, they were the first friends I’d ever had who knew who I really was.

Towards the end of that week, I received a letter from my mother, with congratulations and encouragements of her own. Reading it over with a sort of hollow feeling in my stomach, I finally resolved to ask Zuko something that had been nagging at the back of my mind for years.

“What happened to your sister?” I asked him the next day, as we walked through the open country outside the capital city that was part of the royal estates. Away from the court, we were both dressed casually, though I had opted for a modern buttoned shirt that set me apart from the more traditional wrapped tunic Zuko wore. In the distance, Izumi and Iyego were practicing their firebending with Druk. “Azula, I mean,” I clarified, when Zuko gave me a strange look.

“She’s not in the capital prison, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Zuko replied. It was well known that Ozai was still held there, but his bending had been taken away from him. As far as I knew, Aang had never done the same to Zuko’s sister, who would presumably require a more high-security prison to hold her.

“So where is she?” I pressed.

Zuko looked away, watching Druk for a moment. The young dragon reared onto his hind legs, wings outstretched, and breathed fire into the sky. Izumi imitated him, balancing on one leg with her arms wide and her head thrown back, and Iyego did the same, just half a beat behind her. “Why this sudden interest?” Zuko asked instead of answering the question.

“Kiyi said something, a while ago…” I explained haltingly. “And now…” I stopped short of telling him how conflicted a perfectly ordinary letter from my mother made me feel. “I just want to know, okay?” I concluded defensively.

Zuko nodded, as if he understood what I hadn’t said. “Have you ever been to Ember Island?”

“No,” I replied. I’d heard about it, of course, and I knew Aza had been there as a child. But my naval duties had never taken me to the northern end of the archipelago, nor had I had any reason to go there since.

“We used to vacation there, growing up,” Zuko reminisced. “There’s a beach house there, far from all the others...it was the only place it ever felt like we were a normal family.” He smiled sadly, one hand smoothing the hairs of his beard, which he had grown out longer that year. “That’s where Azula is.”

“She’s at a beach house?” I repeated, uncertain I had understood him correctly. “We’re talking about the same Azula, right? The crazy sister who tried to kill you?”

“It wasn’t just me she tried to kill,” Zuko replied, the hand on his beard coming to rest over his stomach instead. He seemed to consider saying something else for a moment. Then he sighed, and let his hand fall back to his side. “But that was a long time ago. She’s...different now.”

Druk took to the air with an agility that would never cease to astonish me, far more graceful than a sky bison. While Iyego watched, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, Izumi shot fireballs for Druk to dodge - one of his favorite games to play, and perfectly safe, for a dragon’s scales could easily withstand common fire. The dragon hunters of old had to use lightning for their barbaric sport.

“You want to see her,” Zuko concluded after another moment of watching Izumi and Druk in silence. He didn’t sound surprised.

“I do,” I agreed, that hollow feeling creeping up once again. It still seemed like a crazy idea, thinking that talking to Azula would somehow help me, just because of something Kiyi had said. But maybe I had grown that desperate. At any rate, I knew this would be my last chance for a while. Once I entered the temple as an acolyte, there would be no more field trips, no matter how potentially life-changing they might be.

Druk came swooping back down to the ground, colliding with Izumi and nearly knocking her off her feet, though we could hear her laughter ringing out bright and clear as she wrapped one arm around the dragon’s neck to steady herself. Her free hand had caught hold of Iyego's.

“I think that can be arranged,” Zuko acquiesced.

* * *

The house on Ember Island certainly was isolated, as Zuko had described it. The sole structure in the cove at the eastern end of the island, it was even shielded from view by jagged rock formations on the approach from the more populated area, until the path zig-zagged around to the front of the impressive building. The one-time royal vacation home was larger than my family’s house on Air Temple Island, though of course it was nothing compared to the palace itself. But I was struck by the feeling that, in this little corner of the island, it was almost as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

I was also surprised when my guide, an officer in the Fire Nation Home Guard, went no further with me than the front steps of the house. There were no other guards or soldiers posted anywhere I could see, and though Zuko had assured me I would be perfectly safe meeting Azula, I had still expected her to be more obviously a prisoner. But perhaps, I thought, that was a mercy Zuko had shown his sister, keeping her guarded only at a distance.

Warily, I let myself into the house - and found I had stepped into an art gallery of sorts.

The paintings that adorned nearly every inch of wall space in the front hall had a single dominant color scheme, or it would be more accurate to say a single dominant color - blue. Seeing no one about, I took a moment to inspect the paintings more closely, and soon realized there was also a unifying theme. Whether it was sailboats tossed on rough seas, summer thunderstorms ravaging dark mountainscapes, or blue-winged butterfly wasps seizing their prey, the violent natural imagery was pervasive. But the painting that most captured my attention was of a dragon, depicted in profile, each scale meticulously detailed in iridescent turquoise.

“You like that one?” came a sharp voice from behind me. I started around, and laid eyes on Azula for the first time.

She wore simple clothes - a rose colored tunic, darker red trousers, and unadorned brown leather boots - and her hair was half pinned up into a sort of loose bun. But the lines of her face were as sharp as Zuko’s, and her eyes even sharper, and it wasn’t hard at all to remember that she had once been a princess whose will had been unquestionable.

“You have a fascinating collection,” I demurred.

“And  _ you _ have a fascinating history,” Azula replied with a grin as she crossed the room towards me. Stopping just arms’ length away, she looked up at me and studied my face. “You look like your mother,” she observed, then went on with a shrug, “So do I, of course, but it’s a much stranger thing to see in a son.”

“You remember my mother?” I asked, frowning in confusion. I knew my mother and Zuko had faced down Azula together at the end of the war, but no one had ever told me in great detail what had happened, beyond that Azula had been completely unstable at the time. From speaking to her now, it certainly seemed that Zuko was right, and she was quite different.

“She would be hard to forget,” Azula replied dryly, arching one eyebrow slightly. Seeing that I still did not understand, she shook her head. “If Zuko never told you, I’m certainly not going to.” And with that cryptic statement, she tilted her head to one side, looking past me at the dragon painting that had caught my eye. “You really like that one?” she asked again, pointing.

Resigned to letting her guide the conversation, I turned back to the painting. “Yes,” I replied, studying the stern expression on the dragon’s face. “It’s impressive.”

“It’s stiff,” Azula said dismissively. “Overworked. Not at all lifelike. But then, I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

I looked at her in surprise. “You painted this?”

“I painted all of these,” Azula said with a broad sweep of her arm, not a hint of a boast in her voice. Then she took hold of me by the elbow and dragged me over to the opposite wall. “But this one is my favorite.”

It depicted a mother bluejay standing over her nest, a tangle of crushed worms held in her beak over the gaping mouths of her three chicks. Compared to the dragon, it was certainly more lifelike. The mother bird’s dark eye stared piercingly out of the painting as she leaned protectively over her brood.

“You are quite talented,” I said appreciatively, noticing how each feather on the bird and each twig in the nest had been painted in fine detail.

“No,” Azula said matter-of-factly. “Talent has only a little to do with it. I’ve worked hard to master my art.” She fixed me with a look as piercing as that of her bluejay. “As, I’ve heard, have you.”

It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. “You mean the dragon’s fire?” I was surprised she even knew about that - Zuko must have told her far more about me than I realized, when he had written to let her know I was coming.

“Yes. Show me.” The command was issued with all the confidence of one who was used to being obeyed, and I began to wonder if Azula was really so much of a prisoner as the public was led to believe. Would she really have stayed in that beach house painting if she didn’t want to? Perhaps Zuko hadn’t bothered with guards because they would have been futile anyway.

“Now?” I demurred, glancing around the enclosed room. I could do a small-scale version of the technique, but somehow I doubted Azula would be satisfied with anything less than the full thing.

Azula raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“Alright,” I agreed cautiously. “We should go outdoors, though.”

Azula scoffed impatiently, but took hold of my elbow again and dragged me through the sliding doors at the back of the room, which led out into a wide, sunny courtyard. I assumed this was where Azula practiced her own bending.

I ran through the form quickly, unleashing a burst of multi-colored fire straight upwards. Azula watched my every move intently.

“Hm,” she said after the demonstration. “You based it on the lightning form.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I can’t actually do the lightning, though.”

“I can,” Azula said with a grin, eyes flashing, holding up two fingers as if in the opening stance. “Would you like to see?”

“Um…” I said nervously. “I don’t think…”

“I’m kidding,” Azula said, letting her arm drop back to her side. “That was a joke.” She shrugged. “My doctors say I shouldn’t try to make jokes, but I don’t  _ always _ follow their advice.” Planting her hands on her hips, she gave me an encouraging nod. “Let me see it again.”

I obliged her once more, producing a slightly larger flame this time. To my surprise, Azula then headed back inside, waving for me to follow her. 

From the front hall, she opened another door which led into a room with tall, south-facing windows that was clearly her workroom - paints, brushes, and canvases in various states of completion lay everywhere. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a stack of thick white cards, then rummaged around on a workbench for a small brush and a tin paintbox. “Oils, of course, not watercolors,” she muttered to herself as she gathered her materials. Then pushing aside a stack of charcoal sketches, she seated herself on another table that might have been a desk, and said to me, “Show me again. Smaller this time, please - I’d rather you didn’t burn down my studio.”

Obligingly, I produced a handheld flame, and focusing my chi on the light it produced, I cycled it through the spectrum, from its natural orange and yellow to green, blue, purple, and finally deep red.

“Fascinating,” Azula breathed, her eyes flicking back and forth from my fire to the card in her hand as she painted. After a minute, she held her work out at arm’s length to examine it, then scoffed and flung it onto the floor. It looked like a pretty good color sketch of the fire to me, but Azula was already starting in on her second attempt.

After a few more tries, each more precise than the last, Azula finally nodded in satisfaction and told me to put out the fire. “I can work with this,” she said, tapping the edge of the last card she had painted against the top of the desk as she hopped down from it. “Now, what did  _ you _ want from  _ me?” _

Reminded of why I had come, I took a deep breath. “Tell me about your mother.”

Azula seemed unfazed by the question. “Oh, it would have broken her heart when you turned up,” she said, still looking at the card in her hand, before she tossed it onto the desk. “Zuzu was always her favorite, you see. She never thought he could do any wrong.” She sighed and turned away from me, leaning forward on the desk and gazing out the window at the palm trees and sparkling waters beyond, then said in a faraway voice. “Breaking her heart was supposed to be my job, dumdum.”

I frowned at this answer, but it wasn’t my grandmother’s hypothetical disappointment at my existence that truly interested me. “Were you angry at her?”

“Oh yes,” Azula replied calmly.

“Did you hate her?” I pressed on.

“No,” she said, as casually as if I’d just asked if she thought it might rain this afternoon.

Boldened by her easy responses, I finally asked the real question I had come to ask, the one I desperately wanted to know the answer to. “How did you stop being angry at her?”

Over her shoulder, Azula gave me the same look as when I had balked at demonstrating the dragon’s fire, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I painted the bluejay.”

I thought about the level of precision in each stroke of that painting, the minutely rendered textures and vivid colors, and the fierce maternal gaze of that bird that seemed as if it could fly off the canvas at any moment. “How long did it take you? To paint that?”

“Oh,” Azula said wistfully, turning back to the window. “That took years and years.” She held up one hand and snapped her fingers, producing a few harmless blue sparks - the first bending I had seen her do. “I burned the first few versions, you know. They weren’t good enough.”

Part of me already knew what she would say, but still I asked, “How did you finally get it right?”

“I kept trying.” She stood up straight, squared her shoulders and turned to face me fully, face hardened into an unreadable mask. “Was that all you wanted to know?”

“I guess so,” I said. It was clear that Azula had decided the conversation was over, and I held no illusions about getting any answers from her that she didn’t want to give me. “Thank you for your time.”

Azula waved away my thanks, picking up her last sketch card with her other hand to study it again. “It’s the violet hues that will be the most challenging,” she said, half to herself, but with a grin that showed how eagerly she was anticipating that challenge. With one last glance at me, she added, “You can find your own way out.”

Whether she was making another ill-advised joke or the irony of her dismissal was unintentional, I still chuckled darkly to myself as I left the house.

* * *

I made one more trip after leaving Ember Island, one last stop before I entered Roku’s temple. I went home - or more accurately, I went back to Air Temple Island. It would be no homecoming this time.

The temple building was finished, and Aang and Tenzin lived there with the air acolytes now. Thirteen-year-old Tenzin with his fresh tattoos was perfectly civil to me, but spent most of his time during the days of my visit away from the island, in the city. Aang tried to reassure me that this had nothing to do with me, for Tenzin and Lin Beifong had been spending an awful lot of time together lately, but I knew this wasn’t the whole truth. The Air Temple Island ferry ran both ways, and it was telling that Tenzin always went to visit Lin and never the other way around.

I stayed in a guest room at the air temple during my visit, for the house that my family had once lived in now stood boarded up and empty.

The air acolytes, who had never shown much interest in me during my childhood, and even less after the scandal had broken, now at least followed Aang’s lead. Since I was soon to be an acolyte myself, albeit of a different element, we had common ground at last, and they were fascinated to hear how I had applied the old Air Nomad mantras to firebending breathing techniques. When I joined them for their midday prayers, that was the only part of my visit that felt at all like old times.

On the last day of my stay, Aang showed me to the storage room where the things I had left behind had been moved when the house was emptied. I was only allowed to bring a few belongings with me to Roku’s temple, so this was as good an opportunity as any to sort out what was worth keeping.

The first box we opened was one of the oldest, filled with blue child’s clothing, old toys, and other mementos from the years we had lived on Kyoshi. “I can’t believe we still have all of these,” I mused as I sat on the floor and leafed through a stack of my old drawings. Whatever artistic talent Azula had gotten, it had not been passed on to me - or, as she would have said, I had not worked hard enough to develop it, for all that Sokka had encouraged me back then.

“She was very sentimental about these things,” Aang said softly. Still standing, he lifted a neatly folded, faded blue baby blanket out of the box. He fingered its satin trim pensively for a moment before setting it aside.

I came to the family portrait I had drawn when Kya was a baby, and a lump formed in my throat. “I remember this one,” I said, passing it up to Aang so he could see. 

Aang smiled fondly down at the flimsy old paper. “You got your hair about right,” he commented, reaching over to ruffle the thick, dark locks that I had once again left loose.

I swatted his hand away with a short laugh, then looked down at my own hand. “I wanted to draw myself firebending,” I admitted, closing my fist and remembering how I had gripped the red pencil in anticipation, hoping my mother would suggest it. But of course, she would have done no such thing. I knew why, now.

Aang sighed and handed the drawing back to me. “She might as well have let you,” he said reproachfully. “For all I would have noticed.”

I looked up at him with something like pity. “Dad.”

“It’s true,” Aang insisted, fiddling with the edge of the baby blanket again. “I wasn’t around enough back then. I wasn’t…” He paused, lips pressed together for a moment. “I wasn’t  _ attentive _ enough.” He let out a heavy breath, and ran a hand over his face. “I still don’t know how you’ve forgiven me for it.”

I got to my feet, tossing the stack of drawings back into the box. “Wasn’t forgiveness the way of the Air Nomads?”

“You’re no Air Nomad, Bumi,” Aang replied, but it was gently put, without any bitterness in it. He picked up the blanket and returned it to the box as well, then closed the lid over all those old memories. “And maybe I haven’t been much of one, either.”

I nudged the box aside with my foot, reaching for another one behind it that I suspected held more recent things. But I paused, hands curled around the edge of the lid, and didn’t open it. “Dad,” I said cautiously, looking down at my name scrawled on the lid in Aang’s handwriting. “Why haven’t you gone to her?”

Aang was silent for a long moment. I watched particles of dust float lazily through the stuffy air of the storage room, counted the boxes stacked against the wall, looked anywhere but at him.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to,” came Aang’s reply at last, his voice low and thick with emotion. “But every time I’ve tried...every time I even think about it…” Another heavy sigh, and when he spoke again it was through gritted teeth. “I just get angry all over again.”

“You’ve tried?” I asked in surprise, turning to face him.

Aang nodded grimly. “I got as far as Kyoshi last year,” he said, reaching past me to pull the lid off of the second box. “But if I couldn’t actually do it, then what was the point?” The first thing he pulled out of the box was the creased photograph of me and Kya and Tenzin in Water Tribe clothing that I had once rescued from the trash, confirming my suspicions as to the later date of the box’s contents.

I took the photograph from his hands. Kya stood proudly in the center, head held high under the wolfskin headdress she wore, one hand resting on her water skin. To the left, and slightly behind her, I had been outfitted with a fur cape that didn’t quite reach my ankles, and sported an easy grin that concealed all the anxiety I had felt back then, holding on to the last tenuous threads of secrecy. And to the right and slightly in front of Kya stood Tenzin, not even ten years old, holding a whale tooth spear larger than he was and looking happier than I had seen him in a long time.

“I guess we all have to keep trying, then,” I said, setting the photograph aside. That, I would be taking with me, no question.

We sorted through the contents of the box without saying much after that, just deciding what would come with me to Roku’s temple, what would be kept in storage, and what could be given away or thrown out. Finally, Aang reached into the box and withdrew the last item, wordlessly holding it out to me. It was the pai sho set I had received as a child, the one that had been Iroh’s idea, the wooden board folded shut and the tiles held in a neatly tied red silk bag on top. It was the gift that Zuko had given me.

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly.

“Pai sho is a noble game,” Aang replied. “The monks used to play it all the time.”

If it was good enough for the ancient monks of the air temples, it was certainly good enough for the fire sages. But that wasn’t my real concern. I picked up the bag of tiles, opened it, and tossed it gently in my hand, sifting through its contents. “I’m sure they already have pai sho sets on Crescent Island,” I said, plucking out a fire lily tile and holding it up to the light.

Aang unfolded the game board, studying its lacquered designs. “But this is a nice one,” he argued. “And it’s yours.”

I flipped the fire lily tile in the air and caught it. “How about you play me for it?”

Aang grinned at the suggestion, and we set up the game right there on the floor of the storage room. He had promised, years ago, to teach me how to play, just one of many failings he couldn’t undo, but at least, when it came to me, he had never hesitated to try at making amends.

I found his strategy incomprehensible at first, a mix of shrewd plays and inscrutable moves, until just like that the game was over and I realized he had backed me into a sudden victory. “You let me win on purpose,” I accused him.

“ _ Let _ you win?” Aang said with a laugh. “I worked very hard for you to win.”

“Why?” I asked in astonishment, wondering how he could want me to have the game so badly. Had he forgotten where it had come from? Or was sending it away with me less painful than keeping it?

“Bumi,” Aang replied solemnly, picking up the same fire lily tile I had fidgeted with before and tossing it back to me. “I could never take this from you.”

I closed my hand tightly around the tile, feeling some of the hollowness in my stomach again. But I took a deep breath, and the warmth of my inner fire filled that space. I looked Aang in the eye, and smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

When I boarded the ship for Crescent Island the next day, the pai sho set was tucked securely in my hand luggage, with the photograph of me and my siblings pressed between the folded halves of the board.

* * *

The temple on Crescent Island was very ancient, though it had been partially destroyed and rebuilt several times throughout its history. Such was the danger of being near an active volcano - or, in the most recent incident, of incurring the wrath of the Avatar spirit. Though the shrine to Roku had been set up in the sanctuary shortly after his death, it only became known as Roku’s temple after the end of the war.

The fire sages who had custody of the temple when I arrived had all been appointed since that time. There were five of them, the oldest and most senior of them only in his late fifties, in addition to three other acolytes already in formation. Beyond the occasional pilgrim, the island was otherwise uninhabited.

It was Kisai, the youngest of the fire sages, who showed me around the temple. The acolytes’ dormitory was our first stop, located on the second from the top floor, just below the great sanctuary at the pinnacle. As he helped me unpack and arrange my few belongings, Kisai nodded in approval at the fine pai sho set, informing me that the elder sages thought highly of the game, and there were even several treatises on pai sho theory in the temple’s modest library.

The sages had their cells on the floor below the dormitory, with the remaining levels occupied by offices, guest rooms for pilgrims, the kitchens and refectory, and the library. There was a separate bath house built over a natural volcanic hot spring, and vegetable gardens and komodo chicken coops surrounding an old barn. All of this occupied the southern arm of the island. The northern arm was wilderness, and was at times only accessible by boat, when the lava was flowing from the volcano down into the sea.

It was a desolate sort of place, at the very edge of the Fire Nation, with few comforts to offer, and for the next three years of my acolyte training I would not be permitted to leave. It was to be my own self-imposed exile of sorts.

But it was what I had wanted, what I had dreamed of for years, Roku’s temple as my safe haven. The sages and other acolytes all knew who I was, of course, but court gossip and politics did not intrude upon the sanctity of the island. We were all there in the service of Agni and in honor of Avatar Roku. 

When I joined Kisai and the others for evening meditation at sunset on my first day there, under the stony gaze of Roku’s statue, it felt more like coming home than anywhere else had in a long time.


	11. Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumi's peaceful life as an acolyte at Roku's temple is punctuated by a series of momentous visits.

Life as an acolyte was, in many ways, reminiscent of life in the navy. Our days were long and our hours fixed, with little leisure time, though it was the temple’s bells rather than the ship’s whistle that marked the hours. All the inhabitants of the temple rose at dawn each day for morning prayers, then the acolytes had the responsibility of preparing breakfast. Morning chores included everything from cleaning to working in the gardens to writing to the temple patrons, followed by lessons with the sages in the ceremonial firebending rites. Then came midday prayers, lunch, afternoon sparring and more lessons or chores until dinner, after which we had an hour of recreation before evening meditation.

Though I was the newest of the four acolytes, I was not the youngest. Wanshu, the orphaned nephew of the Great Sage who had been raised in the temple, was only twenty when I entered. Hasang was the same age as me, though he had been in the class ahead of mine at the Royal Academy, and even Osumon, the oldest of us, was only twenty-five. All of us so close in age, and living in shared quarters, a sort of brotherly camaraderie developed between us, for the life of temple acolytes was far less competitive than that of Academy students. Fire Sage Kisai nominally had charge of us, but he did not turn thirty until I had been there nearly a full year, and was more like our much put-upon oldest sibling than our schoolmaster.

The Great Sage was the most avid pai sho enthusiast of our little fellowship, and it was he who had acquired the scholarly works on the subject for the temple library - including, I was amused to discover, a treatise on the theory of the game written by none other than the late General Iroh himself, in the days of his retirement after the war. I read that work with more than academic interest, and felt a little thrill each time I recognized some maxim or turn of phrase in the General’s writing that I had already encountered in the diaries of Fire Lady Ilah.

Given the Great Sage’s enthusiasm, it was not surprising that the noble game occupied our leisure hour more often than not. Hasang and I had played against each other before in our Academy days, and Osumon I quickly learned stuck to fairly predictable strategies, but Wanshu, who had learned pai sho at his uncle’s knee, was a force to be reckoned with. In all my first year at the temple, I never quite managed to beat him.

But it was not to play pai sho that I had come to the temple. Fully immersed in the life of religion, I had found my refuge from the anxieties of the world. Beyond our daily spiritual exercises, there was a whole cycle of seasonal rituals for the acolytes to learn - many of them, like the Dragon Day festival, only recently restored to practice. The winter solstice was of course the principal feast of our temple, when we saw the greatest number of pilgrims, and the summer solstice was the holiest day of the year throughout the Fire Nation, but every changing of the seasons and each of the heavenly bodies had celebrations of their own, each with its unique firebending rites for us acolytes to learn.

Though the Great Sage was indifferent on the question, Kisai and the younger sages were of the sort who had lately become enamoured of performing these rites in the ancient language of the Sun Warriors. Having long been fascinated by the Sun Warriors myself, I was aware that a form of their language had been preserved as a sacred tongue up until the reign of Azulon. But until I began to study this tongue in earnest under Kisai’s instruction, I had never realized how closely it was related to the language of the ancient Air Nomad mantras I had learned as a child.

“Of course they are related,” Kisai said when I made this observation to him. “Fire is the first element, and air the second, but all things come from the same source.”

All things came from the same source. It was a familiar maxim to me by that point, from my years of study. But in my meditation that evening, for the first time I thought of it as applied to myself. The true source of my own fire was not in myself, nor in the man who had sired me, nor in his sin and my mother’s, but beyond all that, in the ultimate source from which all things came.

I passed two years in this contented manner, advancing in spirituality and learning. Osumon received the anointing of the sage and moved out of the dormitory into one of the cells, and Hasang followed suit, though he was soon transferred to a newly opened shrine in Republic City. A new acolyte named Taegon joined us from the former colonies. Pilgrims came and went. But within the sanctuary of Crescent Island, the rhythms of life went on undisturbed.

Outside of the temple, change was more in force. Aza became a father, and hardly ceased to sing his little son’s praises. Iyego turned twenty-five, and he and Izumi were married that same week. The United Republic of Nations achieved full independence, and much more sensationally, the first major crime ring in Republic City was broken up shortly after - with the Avatar’s help, of course.

I learned of it all only through letters. But late in the summer of my second acolyte year, I received word of a coming visitor who would be of special interest to me.

For the first time in many years, the Fire Lord was going to make a pilgrimage to Roku’s shrine.

* * *

“The last time I was here,” Zuko mused as the Great Sage led him through the lofty entrance hall of the temple, “was shortly after the end of the war. They had only just begun rebuilding.”

“My predecessor did a remarkable job overseeing the restoration,” the Great Sage commented, though his bland tone undermined the impression of the words. “His Majesty will surely appreciate the results.”

In our position in the gallery overlooking the entrance hall, Taegon nudged me with his elbow. “He doesn’t like your dad, huh?” my fellow acolyte whispered.

I shot him a glare in reply, but said nothing. Wanshu came to his uncle’s defense. “The Great Sage is perfectly loyal to the Fire Lord.”

“Well, yeah,” Taegon agreed, rolling his eyes. “But he doesn’t like Bumi’s dad.”

“He’s not my dad,” I muttered under my breath, though neither of them heard me, as they were once again straining to hear what the Great Sage and the Fire Lord said to each other. Their voices were growing fainter as they left the entrance hall, heading towards the stairs, and a few moments later their tour brought them up to the gallery.

“Our acolytes,” the Great Sage said by way of presenting the three of us as we scrambled to attention. I offered the same half-bow as Wanshu and Taegon, but of course rose to find Zuko’s eyes fixed on me. 

“Accomplished young men, as I understand it,” Zuko remarked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Indeed,” the Great Sage replied dryly. Then he continued giving his tour. “This gallery was not part of the previous iteration of the temple, but was found on an older set of plans dating back almost three hundred years…”

Zuko followed the Great Sage away, nodding as he listened to the architectural history of the temple. I watched their retreating figures, knowing there was more to this visit than Zuko wanting to see the restored building after all these years. It would only be a matter of time before he let me know what his true purpose was.

Taegon let out a sigh of relief once the Fire Lord was out of earshot. “It’ll be interesting having him here, that’s for sure.”

* * *

Sure enough, I was called to the Fire Lord’s chambers during the recreation hour that evening. Zuko had been installed in the nicest of the guest rooms, which, while more spacious than the cells the fire sages occupied, was still rather spartan compared to the palace. It boasted a narrow bed and a desk against opposite walls, a westward-facing window that afforded a rather picturesque view of the sun setting over the water, a wardrobe at the foot of the bed, and a round wooden table with three chairs.

“You came at an odd time,” I remarked as Zuko bade me sit at the table. I took the chair closest to the door. “Past the sun’s zenith, but far too early for the winter solstice.” Of course, I knew that was probably by design, that Zuko had chosen a season when there were unlikely to be other pilgrims at the temple.

“I came to see you,” Zuko replied, cutting to the chase as he sat down next to me.

“And here I thought you came for the Great Sage’s tour,” I said, removing the red skullcap that I wore as part of the acolyte’s uniform and running a hand through my hair.

Zuko chuckled. “You have your uncle’s sense of humor.”

I stared at him blankly for the few seconds that it took me to remember that he and Sokka had once been friends, as well, years ago. Before the incident that brought me into the world and irrevocably changed everything. With the realization, I looked away, fidgeting with the skullcap in my hands.

“How have you been?” Zuko asked.

“Fine,” I replied hastily, eager to shift the conversation. “More than fine, actually.” I had told him as much in various letters over the last two years, but of course he would want to hear me say it in person. I met his eye resolutely. “I’m happy here.”

Zuko’s relief was evident. “Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s good to hear. I used to worry that…” He waved a hand to dismiss his own train of thought, and let out another chuckle. “But that’s in the past now, and I came here to talk to you about the future.”

The future was often shaped by the past, I thought. But I kept that thought to myself. “What about the future?” I asked instead.

An irrepressible grin broke out across Zuko’s face, the happiest I had seen him in a long time. “Well, first of all, you’re going to be an uncle yourself.”

My own smile undoubtedly matched his. “Really?”

“By the end of this winter,” Zuko confirmed. “The official announcement will be made soon, but your sister wanted me to tell you first.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, already thinking of the letter I would have to write to Izumi and Iyego to congratulate them. “I hope Druk won’t be jealous.”

“I swear, he knows already,” Zuko said, shaking his head. “He’s gotten more protective of Izumi than ever.”

“Dragons are very insightful creatures,” I replied, not surprised.

“Indeed they are,” Zuko agreed, his smile faltering. Druk had always been wary around him, and Zuko had in return kept a respectful distance from the dragon. “Which brings me to the other bit of news I came to deliver.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve discussed this with Izumi, and we’ve agreed that after the child is born, I will abdicate.”

The bubble of happiness that had welled up inside my chest at the first bit of news abruptly burst. “What?” I asked, astonished.

“You know I’ve been less popular with our own people than I once was for years now,” Zuko went on, in what sounded like a rehearsed explanation. “And the other nations…” He paused and shook his head. “To the extent that they will talk to us at all, they will only do it through Izumi. I had hoped,” and here he broke off and gave me a stern look. “Not that I blamed you, you understand, or wanted you gone - but I had hoped that when you left court things would improve.” He clasped his hands together and set them down definitively on the table between us. “They have not.”

“So you’re just quitting?” I asked in disbelief. Nothing about his explanation really came as a shock to me, but the idea that Zuko would give up in difficult circumstances was hard to reconcile with everything I knew about him.

“I am doing what is best for the Fire Nation,” Zuko corrected me firmly, “by entrusting it to your sister, who is in a better position than I am to lead it.” With a sigh, he went on in a more measured tone, “It is only due to her fortitude - and Aang’s forbearance - that things are not worse than they are already.”

I frowned at the mention of my father and his supposed forbearance. “As I recall, Aang once punched you in the face in the middle of a diplomatic summit.”

“Yes,” Zuko agreed ruefully. “I had that coming.”

I fought the urge to argue. Aang certainly could have done worse, and I hardly needed Zuko of all people to defend him to me. “What will you do after, once you’ve given up the throne?” I asked instead. In all the history of the Fire Nation, there had never been a Fire Lord who abdicated voluntarily. Former Fire Lords had always wound up imprisoned like Ozai, or worse.

“I still have debts to pay,” Zuko answered cryptically. He shifted in his chair, leaning in a little closer to me, and lowered his voice as if afraid of someone overhearing. “Tell me, Bumi...how is your mother, truthfully?”

She was still miserable, of course, barely getting by with Kya there to support her. Zuko knew the broad strokes of it already, but giving him any further details seemed wildly inappropriate. “That’s none of your concern,” I admonished him.

“But it is my concern,” Zuko protested. “Because it’s my fault, as much as it is hers.”

“No, I mean…” I let out a frustrated sigh. “There’s nothing you can do about it.” Anything he might try could only make the situation worse, at this point.

Zuko considered this for a moment. “You would know better than I,” he finally conceded, leaning back in his chair again. “Though I won’t deny…” He ran one hand pensively over his beard, before letting it rest on his stomach. “Part of me does wish I could just...run to her and make everything better.”

“You can’t go to her,” I insisted. That would be the worst thing he could do.

“I know that,” Zuko agreed sadly. “I won’t.”

Still I wasn’t sure he fully understood. “It’s not you she needs.”

“I  _ know _ that,” Zuko agreed again, more irritably, sitting up straighter. “But I still wish there was something I could do.”

“Maybe you’ve done enough,” I replied. It came out harsher than I meant it to, and I recalled what Izumi had once said to me in accusation, that Zuko let me get away with saying nasty things because he felt guilty.

But he did not look guilty now, nor did he seem hurt by my words. “Did Azula tell you what happened?” he asked softly. “The last time we fought?”

“No,” I replied, wary of the change of subject. Azula had rather explicitly refused to tell me about it, in fact, if Zuko would not. Aang and Sokka were the great raconteurs of old war stories in the family, but neither of them had been witness to that particular battle. “I do know my mother was there.”

Zuko nodded, his eyes far away, drawing on what I assumed were painful memories. “I didn’t think I could face Azula without her.”

“But Azula challenged you to an Agni Kai,” I said, brow furrowing in confusion as I supplied the few details that were public knowledge. “And you accepted.”

“Azula was falling apart that day,” Zuko explained sadly, tracing the grain of the wooden tabletop with one finger. “I knew as soon as I saw her that she wouldn’t be fighting at her best. And I thought, if I could face her one-on-one after all, then there was no need to put anyone else in danger.” His hand stilled, and closed into a fist. “There was no need to put your mother in danger.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” I asked, tossing my skullcap gently onto the table in front of me. “You won that fight.”

“I won the crown that was at stake, according to the rules of the Agni Kai,” Zuko corrected me, still with that far-away look in his eyes. “But I didn’t win the fight.”

“How is that possible?” I asked. I had never fought an Agni Kai myself, but I knew they were typically straightforward affairs, winner take all.

“Technically,” Zuko replied, and there was just a slight hitch in his voice, “Azula forfeited the duel by attacking a non-combatant.”

The Agni Kai had been witnessed by a handful of fire sages from the capital, but I knew immediately that Azula would not have attacked any of them. “You mean she…”

When Zuko closed his eyes and went on, it was as if he wasn’t even talking to me anymore. “She knew shooting lightning at me would do no good, because I could redirect it. So she aimed it at  _ her _ instead.” His fist resting on the table tightened. “I ran. I stopped it. It would have killed me, but I couldn’t let  _ Katara…” _ Her name broke off into a sob, and his shoulders shook.

He had come close, the first time I had showed up at the palace and told him I was his son. But I had never seen Zuko cry before.

Once it would have made me angry, the evidence of those feelings that had wrought so much pain on the rest of us. As it was, it still made me uncomfortable. But I reached out and placed my hand over his on the table, and the tension in his fist relaxed.

Zuko took a deep breath, regaining some composure. “She saved me, in the end. She defeated Azula, all on her own, and then she healed me.”

“No wonder Azula said she’d be hard to forget,” I mused aloud. That Agni Kai had been Azula’s first true defeat - and her last. If my mother had been the one opponent to ever get the better of her, of course she would remember. But my mother herself had never told a soul, as far as I knew.

“Azula’s right about some things,” Zuko replied, wiping his eyes with his free hand before placing it over that same spot on his stomach. “I still have the scar. But I never regretted it. Taking that lightning for her was easy, you know. I didn’t even have to think about it. But this…” He let out a sigh and looked away, towards the window. The sun was hovering low over the water, just barely not touching the horizon. Soon the bell would ring for evening meditation. “Knowing she’s suffering, but having to stay away, knowing anything I did to try to help her would only make it worse…” Zuko uncurled his fist, turning his hand over to grip mine. “This is so much harder.”

That was how it had all begun, wasn’t it? My mother suffering in Aang’s absence, and Zuko wanting to take her pain away. And because he had tried to do it then in the worst way possible, now it was happening all over again.

“Doing nothing can be the most painful choice,” I said in a low voice. “But sometimes it’s what’s necessary.”

Zuko looked back at me, as if to protest. But before he could say anything more, the evening bell rang. Withdrawing my hand from his, I picked up the red skullcap from the table and replaced it snugly over my unruly hair, then stood to answer the call. “Are you coming?”

After a moment of hesitation, Zuko nodded, and silently followed me to the sanctuary.

* * *

Izumi’s daughter Ilah was born that winter. Zuko abdicated in the spring, and Izumi was crowned Fire Lord on the summer solstice. I even got to accompany the Great Sage of our temple to the coronation, and meet my newborn niece. She was a beautiful child, like her mother, though Izumi insisted from the start that she had Iyego’s nose, and as she grew older, the girl’s resemblance to her father would grow more apparent.

Zuko left the capital after the coronation. He visited Kiyi in Hira’a, then spent some time at Ember Island, where he wrote to me of Azula’s latest painting. “She’s based it on you,” the letter read, which I took to mean she was still painting dragon’s fire. “It looks like it will be quite impressive when it’s finished.” After that he paid a visit to the Sun Warriors, about which he was more circumspect, and then told me in his next letter that he was going to travel the Earth Kingdom anonymously for a while, eventually to visit his uncle’s former tea shop in Ba Sing Se. He did not specify an itinerary on his way there, and when I wrote back I did not ask.

That autumn, the Avatar made his first official visit to the Fire Nation since the scandal had broken. Fire Lord Izumi received him well - the two of them were, by that point, almost friends. Tenaguk was soon replaced by a younger ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe, and the Earth King began to make overtures about a possible betrothal between one of his many grandsons and the little Princess Ilah. Iyego was positively scandalized by the suggestion of his daughter acquiring a fiancé before she had learned to walk, but it was still a good sign. The world was warming up to the Fire Nation again.

At the end of his visit, Aang came to Roku’s temple as well, and got the same tour from the Great Sage that Zuko had gotten, though he seemed to take it all in better spirits. The Great Sage was certainly less curt with him, which helped.

“See,” I whispered pointedly, nudging Taegon as we once again watched from the gallery. “He likes my dad just fine.”

Taegon smothered a snort of laughter, but Wanshu nodded sagely. “We are here to serve the Avatar, after all.”

The Great Sage let Aang converse with us three acolytes for a bit longer before continuing on with his tour, and I was admittedly happier to see Aang than I had been to see Zuko. But the sense of déjà vu was strong nonetheless, especially when I once again found myself summoned during the evening recreation hour. There happened to be two other pilgrims staying at the temple at that time, but the Avatar had naturally been given the best of the guest rooms, just as the Fire Lord had been.

I took the chair farthest from the door this time, and hoped no one would end up crying in this conversation.

“Izumi sends her regards,” Aang began, bent over the russack he had tossed on the narrow bed. Air Nomads always traveled light, and it was his all he had brought. “She wanted me to give you this.” He straightened and handed me a framed photograph.

“Thanks,” I said, and smiled at the picture. It showed Izumi seated with little Ilah on her lap, while Iyego stood next to her with his hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t wearing the crown, and both she and Iyego were smiling - a real family portrait, rather than an official one. I would keep it next to the photograph of me and Kya and Tenzin in Water Tribe clothes. “How is she handling being Fire Lord?”

“Like she was born to do it,” Aang replied, sitting opposite me at the table. Part of me was relieved he had not unwittingly sat in the same place as Zuko. “The Fire Nation is lucky to have her.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, setting the picture down on the table. “We are.” There was the slightest downward twitch at one corner of Aang’s mouth. “Sorry,” I hastily added.

Aang sighed. “No, it’s alright. You’re about as Fire Nation as can be, no point in pretending otherwise.”

I didn’t want to pretend otherwise. But I didn’t need to rub it in his face, either. The fact that I was sitting there in my red acolyte’s uniform was reminder enough. “How’s Tenzin?” I asked, to change the subject.

Aang smiled fondly. “He and Lin are visiting the Northern Air Temple.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” If the two of them were traveling to the air temples together now, it seemed Tenzin was more serious about her than I had realized. But it shouldn’t have surprised me. My little brother had always been serious about everything.

“Yeah, Lin has gotten really good at metalbending and Teo and the Mechanist were eager to work with her,” Aang explained, leaning back with one arm slung over the back of his chair. His other hand rested on the table, fingers drumming idly. “It’ll be a good trip for both of them.”

I nodded, not having much more to add. Toph Beifong’s daughters were so much younger than me, I’d never been close with either of them. But I had gotten the impression that Lin had latched on to Aang a little bit. It made sense to me. Lin had no father of her own, after all.

After a moment of silence, Aang’s fingers stilled on the table top, and I saw his expression had turned more serious. His eyes were fixed somewhere on the middle of the table, unblinking. “What’s on your mind?” I asked.

Aang’s response was not what I had expected. “Zuko writes to you, doesn’t he?”

“Well, yeah,” I admitted, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. It was no secret that Zuko and I exchanged letters, but Aang and I never talked about it. It had always been so easy not to, somehow. 

“Did he tell you he came to see me?” Aang asked in a low voice.

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Aang assured me. “I didn’t hit him this time.”

It might have been an attempt at humor, but I didn’t find it all that amusing. Zuko might not have borne the weight of the crown anymore, but I didn’t think that made paying unexpected calls on the Avatar any wiser of an idea. Still, if it hadn’t come to blows, that did seem to be an improvement. “So it went...better?” I asked cautiously.

“Maybe. I’m still not sure.” Aang paused, and his eyes snapped up to meet mine. “I suppose I shouldn’t blame him for caring.” But it still came out sounding bitter.

I stood and moved to the window. The day was overcast, and the sea dull gray. “I told him not to do anything like this,” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to Aang. I didn’t know what Zuko had gone and said to Aang, but I couldn’t imagine it helping. Why couldn’t he have just left things alone?

“Zuko’s never been one to sit idly by,” Aang replied, coming to stand next to me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and could see the grim lines set into his face. It made him look older than he should have - though, I suppose, Aang was actually even older than he looked. But before I could decide if I even wanted to ask any more about what had happened, Aang shook his head and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I don’t want you to worry about it.”

I worried about it for the rest of his visit anyway, as I went about my chores and studies, during the communal meals, and even when Aang joined us for special prayers in the sanctuary before Roku’s statue. Zuko’s ancestor and Aang’s past life, it was no accident that the previous Avatar had called to me for so long. I couldn’t just ignore the way things stood between the two men who each had a claim to me as their son.

Aang looked equally pensive when we left the sanctuary, and I wondered if Roku had said anything similar to him.

The day that Aang left Crescent Island, I walked with him out to the old barn where Appa was waiting, and asked where he was headed next.

“Omashu, and then Southern Air Temple,” Aang replied, tossing his russack up onto the bison’s saddle. “After that...we’ll see.”

It was an answer typical of an Air Nomad who never planned out his itinerary too far in advance. I did notice his travels were bringing him south again, and I wondered how far he would make it this time. But that wasn’t what weighed on my mind at that moment.

“Next time I write to Zuko,” I offered hastily, needing to get it out before he left, “I can tell him again to back off.”

Aang looked away from me, running one hand over Appa’s shaggy flank. “I don’t want to draw you into this,” he said regretfully.

“Dad,” I said pointedly, spreading my arms wide to remind him of the red uniform I wore. “I’ve always been part of it.”

Aang turned back to look at me for a long moment, his hand still resting against Appa’s side. Then, suddenly, he took a deliberate stride forward and pulled me into a hug. “Bumi,” he said firmly. “You know that I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, hugging him back. I hadn’t doubted that in a long time.

Aang pulled back and let me go after a final squeeze of my shoulder. “Good.” He took his place on Appa’s head and picked up the reins, guiding him out of the barn. I stood back to watch him take off, but Aang looked back down at me one last time. “Do me a favor?” he asked, and I nodded for him to go on. “At the next full moon, make an offering for your mother.”

Startled, I agreed, and Appa took to the air after that, carrying Aang away to the south. The full moon was three weeks away, but when the time came, as I had promised, I lit a stick of incense before Roku’s statue, praying that my mother’s spirits would rise like the aromatic smoke. He hadn’t asked it of me, but I lit another one for Aang as well.

* * *

What happened next, I would not learn about until after the fact. Aang’s travels to Omashu and the Southern Air Temple took him seventeen days, all told. After that, for the first time in several years, he made a visit to the south pole. Chief Kotak and the tribe welcomed him warmly, and though he declined the invitation to participate in the whaling expedition that was just about to embark when he arrived, on the night of the full moon, he did give the whalers a special blessing for their task. And then, he went out of the town, out into the wilderness, out to my mother’s hermitage on those desolate, rocky shores.

I don’t know what he said to her, or she to him. The painful history of their etrangement, which had its origins in the dark secrets of my mother’s heart, would reach its conclusion in ways similarly occluded to me. Some mysteries, like the ocean, are too deep to be known, too profound to be exposed. Some lights, like the sun, are simply too bright to be gazed upon, and can only be seen in their reflections.

But from then on, my mother and father were never separated again, until the end.

* * *

The first I heard of what had happened was from Kya.

The letter came as we were in the midst of preparations for the winter solstice - still a few weeks away, but as it was our busiest time of year, there was much to be done. Extra food stores had to be prepared for the influx of pilgrims that would come, all the guest rooms cleaned, and for the first time that year, the Great Sage had agreed that we could perform the solstice rites entirely in the Sun Warrior language, which meant additional practice of the ancient tongue was required. So even though my sister’s letter arrived in the morning, I didn’t actually read it until just before I went to sleep.

It wasn’t terribly detailed, but it was stunning. I read it over a second, then a third time to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. Then I stared at the paper in my hands for a long time.

“Bumi, put the light out already,” Wanshu grumbled from the bed across from mine in the dormitory. With a grunt of acknowledgement, I shook myself out of my stupor and complied, snuffing out the lamp next to my bed. But even when I lay down and closed my eyes, sleep did not come easily.

Aang had done it.

_ How  _ had he done it? That was the thought that kept me awake. Had the years been all he had needed, time to let his anger cool? Had he made some breakthrough, found some insight I could not? Had the spirits answered those humble prayers I had offered with the incense?

Of course they had, I chided myself, turning over in bed. Whatever had happened, all good things were a gift from the spirits in the end. Just like my fire, it had been granted for their own purposes, in the way they saw fit. In that thought, I took comfort, and slept at last.

The following morning, I made another offering before Roku’s statue, this time in thanksgiving. Though held in the depths of my heart, there was another petition as well, that someday soon it would be my turn.

The other upshot of Kya’s letter was that, now that she no longer needed to stay quite so close to our mother’s side, she was coming to visit me. She arrived among the rush of winter solstice pilgrims, and so found it easier to slip out of the Great Sage’s tour of the temple and come find me as I was working in the gardens, pulling up the last ginger turnips of the season.

“Hey, Fire Sage,” she called out to me.

With a grin, I stood from where I’d been crouching in the dirt and turned to see my sister leaning over the garden wall, her blue dress standing out sharply against the black volcanic stone. “Not quite yet,” I replied, pulling off my soiled work gloves and tossing them down by the basket of ginger turnips. Then I leaned over the wall as well to hug her.

After a moment, Kya pushed me away, wrinkling her nose. “You’re all sweaty and gross,” she complained. Then she tipped her head back and glared up at the afternoon sun. “It’s so  _ hot  _ here.”

I chuckled, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of one wrist. “It’s almost winter, Kya.” The temperature was mild by Fire Nation standards, and I thought it was a beautiful day, neither too hot nor too cold.

Kya shook her head. “Try living at the south pole,” she said dryly. “Then talk to me about winter.”

I hoisted myself up to sit on the garden wall, then swung one leg over, feet dangling a few inches off the ground on either side. “I thought waterbenders liked all that ice and snow.”

Kya leaned her back against the wall, arms crossed. “Oh, it’s amazing,” she agreed. “But I was ready for a change of climate.”

I hummed in understanding, poking at a bit of moss growing on top of the wall. “So,” I said cautiously. “He really did it, huh?”

Kya actually laughed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself. But it was a genuine laugh, not a bitter one. “He really did,” she confirmed, squinting back in the direction of the temple. “I was in town when he got there, you know - no one knew he was coming, it was a big surprise - and do you know what the first thing he said to me was, when I got to speak to him alone?” She looked back at me, and I shook my head. “‘How is your mother?’” she quoted, though I doubted Aang had said it with the same flat affect. 

“Wow,” I replied. “Straight to the point.”

“So unlike him, right?” Kya said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I told him what I really thought, but he took it better than I expected - as well as he could, I guess.”

“What did you say to him?” I asked curiously.

“That she was lonely and depressed, and he was the only one who could do anything about it,” Kya answered with a shrug. “Nothing he shouldn’t have known already, really.”

“I’m sure it meant something,” I said, pulling one leg up to rest my foot on top of the wall. “Hearing it from you.”

“I don’t know that it did,” Kya said, pushing herself off the wall and turning to face me fully. “There was already something different about him. I was wondering if you had said anything to him, actually.”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Not about Mom.”

“Well, I think someone must have,” Kya said, resting one fist against her hip. I had a faint, suspicious inkling of who might have, but dismissed the thought. “At any rate,” Kya went on. “It was obvious she was the reason he had come. He went to her right away.”

I could almost picture it in my mind - my mother looking up from some chore to see a sky bison approaching, wondering if Tenzin had come to see her, and being surprised rather than disappointed this time to discover that it was someone else. But what had happened next, I couldn’t imagine. “And that was it?” I asked, sure it couldn’t be so simple.

But my sister had few details she could give me. “He brought her back to town - back into the tribe - a couple days later,” she explained, pacing the length of the garden wall back and forth as she spoke. “They’re going to stay there, at least for a while. Dad was writing to Tenzin to let him know when I left. Oh, and he also wrote this, for you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded and sealed letter.

“Thanks,” I said automatically, taking the letter from her. I was dying to know what it said, of course, but something about the way Kya had said  _ for you _ gave me the impression I should read it when I was alone. I tucked it inside my tunic for safekeeping.

We talked a bit more, mostly about what Kya would do now that she was no longer tied to our mother’s side - she expressed a desire to travel, perhaps with Tenzin, but I suspected she would settle in one place in the end. She might have been part Air Nomad by blood, but she was no more cut out for a lifetime of wandering than my mother had been.

Eventually she left me to finish my chores, but during the recreation hour that evening I did insist on showing her around the temple - an abbreviated version of the Great Sage’s tour. I finished with the sanctuary, where the doors were closed and would remain so until the solstice, but I described Roku’s statue to her.

Kya was very quiet as I did. “Isn’t Roku Zuko’s grandfather or something?” she finally asked softly.

“His great-grandfather,” I corrected her.

“Huh,” Kya said, looking up at the massive bronze dragons on the sanctuary door - miraculously, they had been found perfectly intact amidst the rubble following the temple’s last destruction. “So we’re both descendants of the Avatar, after all.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, then hesitated for a moment before adding, “Mom had a type, I guess.”

Kya looked back at me sharply, absolutely scandalized. But then, to my relief, she laughed.

* * *

Towards the end of the recreation hour, I retreated to the balcony at the pinnacle of the tour to find the solitude to read Aang’s letter. The wind had picked up that evening - a cold wind that made me think ruefully of Kya’s complaint that it was too hot - and I had to hold the paper steady with both hands.

I still have that letter to this day. This is what it said:

_ Dear Bumi, _

_ Kya will have told you, I’m sure, that I’ll be staying at the south pole with your mother for the time being. I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to see you in person will be, but there is one thing I feel you deserve to know, that perhaps I should have told you before, and I didn’t want to put it off any longer. _

_ When Zuko came to see me, it wasn’t just to apologize on his own behalf. He actually said that he wouldn’t blame me if I never forgave him. But he said something else, too. He said, “I can live with you hating me for the rest of my life, but Katara can’t.” _

_ I promise, I told you the truth when I said I didn’t hit him again, but when he said that, I wanted to. Not because I thought he was wrong, but because I realized he was right, in a sense. I didn’t hate your mother - I had never stopped loving her, not for an instant, and that was why I was so angry at her - but I had let my anger drive me to act like I hated her. That was why she left for the south pole, and why she wouldn’t return, even from her exile. _

_ What Zuko said, it made me realize that I had been thinking about forgiveness as something I needed to do for myself - and it was that, too. But when it was just about me, I couldn’t do it. Forgiveness can’t be selfish. I could only do it once I understood that it was a sacrifice I had to make for someone else - and in this case, for someone I loved. _

_ It didn’t become easy after that. But it became possible. It never would have been possible, I think, if Zuko hadn’t come to me and said what he did. And as hard as it is for me to admit, I know that he did that because, even if what he did all those years ago was wrong, he really did love your mother, and still does. That was what I felt you deserved to know. _

_ Spirits’ blessings upon you for the upcoming winter solstice. Say hi to Roku for me. _

_ Love, _

_ Your father _

* * *

I was late to meditation that evening, for the first time since I had come to the temple. The Great Sage, seated before a row of candles as each of the sages and acolytes were, saw me enter the antechamber of the sanctuary as I sheepishly rubbed the tear tracks from my face. He said nothing of it, but raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged one shoulder, waved the letter in my hand vaguely, and he nodded in understanding.

Kisai was lighting the incense, and Osumon chanted a mantra in the Sun Warrior tongue, as I took my place, before my own row of four candles. With a deep breath in and out, I ignited them, letting my inner flame shine forth.


	12. Fulfillment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumi is elevated to the rank of Fire Sage, and all three of his parents meet again at last.

Six months later, it was the summer solstice we were preparing for, the great feast of Agni himself. That year, it would also be the day that Wanshu and I received our anointing as fire sages.

Wanshu had no parents, no siblings, no family at all except for his uncle, the Great Sage, so there was no one to invite to witness the ceremony on his behalf. In my case, it was a bit more complicated - so much so, in fact, that the Great Sage called me into the library to discuss it in private.

“Ordinarily, we would invite the candidate’s parents to be present for the anointing,” the Great Sage said as I took a seat at one of the reading tables, across from him. I nodded, remembering how Hasang’s mother and Osumon’s father had both been present when they had been anointed in previous years. “But for you…”

“I’ve got a surplus of parents,” I joked.

The Great Sage gave a short chuckle. “Indeed. Now, we would be honored to have the Avatar visit us again, but…”

I looked away from the old man, eyes landing on the nearby row of books on firebending theory. There was a contribution of my own shelved there, a thin volume on the dragon’s fire technique that I had written with help from Kisai over the past two years, and completed just that winter. “You don’t want Zuko to come,” I finished the Great Sage’s thought for him.

“It’s not that I object to Lord Zuko being here,” the Great Sage replied carefully, folding his hands on the table, “so much as I wonder if it would be entirely prudent.”

“You mean having him here at the same time as Aang and my mother.” It had of course occurred to me as well, that all three of them in one place could be a volatile combination. From everything I had read in my parents’ letters - for both Aang and my mother now regularly wrote me warm, detailed letters about their life at the south pole - I felt confident that the two of them were a united front, more so than I could ever remember them even before the scandal. It was Zuko who was the unpredictable factor.

But it was also Zuko who had facilitated their reconciliation in the first place. He still hadn’t even mentioned his visit to Aang in any of his own letters, and I had yet to work up the nerve to acknowledge to him what Aang had divulged to me. “It will be...awkward,” I admitted, meeting the Great Sage’s eye once again. “But I think it’s also necessary.”

The Great Sage considered this for a moment, scrutinizing me carefully. “Necessary for you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe for all of us.”

* * *

Aang and my mother arrived first.

In the days leading up to our anointing, Wanshu and I had been excused from many of the usual acolyte’s chores, and Taegon was relieved from bearing the burden alone by the three new acolytes who joined us that week. This left the two of us with plenty of extra time for reflection, meditation, and spiritual preparation - as well as, in my case, greeting my guests.

There was something surreal about watching Aang help my mother down from Appa’s saddle. I hadn’t seen the two of them together since Aang had learned the dark secret of my mother’s affair, seven years ago, though I knew from talking to Kya that those months between the revelation and when my mother had gone back to the south pole had been filled with tension and stony silences.

There was no tension between them now. My mother smiled with ease, and her hand lingered in Aang’s grasp longer than was necessary. Her hair was braided and looped again, and though none of the lines had faded from her face, there was some renewed vital energy in her that defied them. When she turned to me, I could see the sorrow in her eyes was gone. She looked radiant.

And, of course, she hugged me right away.

Aang followed suit, both of them talking excitedly about how good it was to see me and how proud they were of me. My mother kept her arm linked through mine as I led them up to the temple, and Aang’s hand remained on my shoulder.

“It’s good to see both of you, too,” I replied, almost overwhelmed by their happiness and affection. It was like sunlight finally breaking through after days of clouds, having both of them there, seeing them finally reconciled. “I’m glad you’re here together.”

My mother squeezed my arm a little tighter, then tactfully changed the subject. “I can’t believe how many years it’s been since we first came here,” she mused nostalgically. “Aang, do you remember how Sokka tried to open the sanctuary doors?”

Aang laughed. “It was a good plan.”

I came to a halt as we reached the front steps of the temple. “I’ve never heard that story.” I knew my parents had come to Crescent Island shortly after Aang had awoken from the iceberg, and of course I knew Avatar Roku had appeared and destroyed the temple to let them escape. But how Sokka had been involved in getting Aang into the sanctuary had somehow never been told to me.

My mother slipped her arm out of mine and fell back a step to take hold of Aang’s hand again. “Oh, it’s not much of a story,” she demurred.

“Go on and tell him,” Aang encouraged her. “Don’t make him have to ask Sokka - you know he’ll just exaggerate it.”

“Well,” my mother said, rolling her eyes at this assessment of Sokka’s storytelling habits. “We only had Fire Sage Shyu with us, so we couldn’t open the doors with firebending…”

I listened with rapt attention as my mother relayed this old family anecdote. Aang chimed in occasionally to add details to the story. When my mother came to the part where Shyu tricked the other sages into opening the door, only to find no one but Momo the winged lemur inside, I actually found myself laughing at the absurd image, and both Aang and my mother joined in.

But when the laughter died down, something graver passed across Aang’s face, perhaps a darker memory - I recalled uncomfortably just who had been pursuing them in those days. Whatever Aang was thinking, he said nothing of it, but my mother saw it in his face, too, and I think she understood better than I did. She said his name softly, and he let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.

“That was a long time ago,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear the memories away. Taking hold of my mother’s other hand, he lifted it tenderly to his lips. “Let’s go inside.”

I showed them to their rooms - separate, as temple protocol demanded, but next door to each other. They would be staying for a week, and while neither of them had brought unduly heavy bags, my mother still insisted she had things to unpack. Aang, on the other hand, shrugged his russack off his shoulder and onto the foot of his bed, and called that sufficient.

“It really does mean a lot,” I told him again when we were alone. “Seeing the two of you…” It couldn’t erase any of the past, of course, but it was hope for the future.

Aang smiled wistfully, almost looking embarrassed. “Kya gave you my letter.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed, though Aang already knew this. I had written back to him, after all.

“Well then, I don’t think anything else needs to be said,” Aang replied with a shrug. “Except that I’m glad we both get to be here for your big day.”

“You said that already,” I pointed out. Both of them had said it, in fact, on our way up to the temple, repeatedly.

“I guess I did,” Aang agreed, clapping me on the shoulder and guiding me out the door of his guest room. “Let’s see if your mother needs any help unpacking.”

She did not, in fact, need any help, but she was clearly glad of our presence as she finished fussing over folding clothes and arranging her things. The three of us took a long walk through the temple and around the island after - the Great Sage was content to let Aang and I give my mother the grand tour.

The whole time, I was thrilled to be with them, to see every smile and gesture of affection they exchanged. But in the pit of my stomach, there was still a little niggling worm of anxiety. Aang might be able to shake off bad memories from years ago, but it remained to be seen how a more immediate confrontation would go, for both him and my mother. For in a few days’ time, Zuko would be joining us.

* * *

Though he was no longer Fire Lord, Zuko had retained many royal luxuries, mostly at Izumi’s insistence. Among these was the modest private ship which brought him to Crescent Island the day before the summer solstice. Anchored in the bay next to the ship which brought the summer pilgrims, it certainly didn’t look very impressive, though it did offer one subtle advantage in the current situation - Zuko would be able to stay in his quarters aboard ship, sparing the Great Sage the conundrum of whether the Avatar or the former Fire Lord should be given the honor of the best guest accommodations in the temple.

It also meant I was able to take one of our own small boats out to the ship to meet him when he first arrived, rather than him having to come ashore. Zuko greeted me on the rear deck, the crewmen who had helped me moor the boat and come aboard having offered quick bows and then conspicuously made themselves absent.

“Does it make you nostalgic?” Zuko asked as I glanced at the ship’s aft catapult. I had heard that newer ships were being outfitted with cannons, but the older defense mechanisms were still good enough for a non-combat vessel.

“The ship I served on was much bigger,” I replied with a shrug, then nodded in the direction of the catapult. “But I could probably still operate that thing in my sleep.” It certainly had been drilled into me enough during my naval training.

“You probably could,” Zuko agreed with a chuckle as we walked towards the bow of the ship. Any crewmen we met along the way did as the first two had done, bowing politely and then getting out of our way. I noticed many of them were older men, rather than young recruits like I had been and served alongside. “As for me, I used to have a ship that was smaller.”

Zuko had never served in the navy, of course, and the Fire Lord’s flagship was larger than the one he had now - he was referring to the ship of his exile in his youth. The similarities to his current situation had not escaped me, but Zuko didn’t seem bothered by it. “How long has this crew been with you?” I asked, as another griseled old sailor bowed and stepped aside.

“Some of them were with me back in the old days,” Zuko replied, coming to a halt by the starboard bow and gazing up at the volcano in the center of Crescent Island. It was not active at that time, but it still cut an imposing black figure against the bright blue summer sky. “They requested to serve aboard my ship again, as if it were their special privilege.” Zuko smiled wistfully. “A rather touching display of loyalty, actually.”

It was touching, I thought. And the old sailors’ loyalty to Zuko was all the more meaningful when so many had shunned him because of his sins. The Sun Warriors, the Earth King, so many members of the royal court - and even me, at times, in my own way.

“My mother and Aang arrived a few days ago,” I said quietly, changing the subject.

“Together,” Zuko said, his eyes still fixed on the black cone of the volcano.

“Yes,” I replied, though he hadn’t said it as a question.

“Good.” Zuko leaned forward, both hands on the ship’s rail. “That’s...it’s a good thing. That they’re together.”

“It is,” I agreed, running one hand along the rail myself. Zuko let out a soft sigh, barely audible, but it stirred something in me - not anger or resentment, but an old feeling that had often accompanied them, the bitter confusion over what made him do the things he did. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see Aang?”

Zuko shrugged. “I wasn’t sure myself that I would do it.” He turned to look at me, offering a half-hearted smile. “And I didn’t want you to talk me out of it.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but I frowned nonetheless. Zuko was right. If he had told me he was considering visiting Aang, the last time he had been here, I would have advised against it. And Zuko had always listened to me, perhaps more than he should have. Only once in my life had he ever spoken a word of rebuke against me, and then only in my mother’s defense, not his own.

“You know,” I said, gripping the rail tightly, “you don’t have to let me be a jerk to you all the time.”

Zuko laughed. “Your sister has complained to you too, I see.”

I was not surprised to learn that Izumi had voiced her frustrations to Zuko as well. “I’m serious,” I insisted. “ I know I’ve...lost my temper, in the past, and said things that were harsh.”

Zuko reached over and placed one hand on top of mine on the rail. “I don’t hold any of that against you.”

“But I shouldn’t have been…” I shook my head, letting that thought drop. It wasn’t that I shouldn’t have been angry at him, and Zuko would only insist I had been justified if I tried to say so. “I don’t hate you,” I said instead. The anger I had felt had never been hate. “I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”

“I never thought you hated me,” Zuko replied with a sad smile, squeezing my hand a little. “Didn’t I tell you once, that I knew Aang was your father either way, and I never wanted to take that from you?”

It was true. He had recognized that before I did, and perhaps that was why he had accepted anything I had said or done that seemed to push him away. But pushing him away wasn’t what I had wanted to do, either. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…” I trailed off again. What was it I was trying to say? What was different between us now?

Nothing, on the surface. And yet somehow, Aang’s letter had changed how I saw him. Zuko being the one to enable Aang and my mother to reconcile changed everything.

“I was angry at you for a long time,” I said, looking down at his hand resting atop mine on the rail. “But I’m not angry at you now.” Glancing back up, I saw that Zuko was waiting patiently for me to continue, somehow knowing there was more. “You were right that Aang is my father no matter what, but I’m also your son. And I’m no longer ashamed of that.”

It lifted a great weight from my heart to say those words, and though Zuko nodded solemnly in reply, I could see that he, too, stood a little straighter. “I am glad to hear that,” he said earnestly. “For your sake.” Then, more slowly and deliberately than he had done all those years ago when I had first thrown our relationship in his face as an accusation, he pulled me into a hug.

This time, I hugged him back.

* * *

There were many rites to be observed on the solstice, but the anointing of new fire sages was always done at the noon of the day, when Agni was at his apex.

Wanshu and I, along with the Great Sage, Kisai, and Osumon, opened the doors to the sanctuary at sunrise. They would remain open until sunset, so that Roku’s statue would oversee all the day’s ceremonies. I smiled to myself as the doors swung open, remembering my mother’s story about Sokka trying to open them with improvised explosives. His plan had worked out in the end, even if not the way he expected.

When morning prayers were done, Wanshu and I were left in the sanctuary to meditate until it was time for the ceremony to begin. In the growing warmth of the longest day of the year, it was easier than the trial of endurance at the academy, but the principle was similar. Fasting from food, we were focused on the pure fire Agni had given us, making us living conduits for his energy.

Under Roku’s stone gaze, I let myself become immersed in that fire. Always flickering in sync with my steady breathing, there were times the flame in my hands burned sky blue or deep red, or even once an emerald green, though I was not consciously bending its color. I had become so attuned to the dragon’s fire technique by that point that I no longer needed to think about it.

Aang had been impressed to see it, I recalled, letting my eyes drift shut. We had sparred the other day. His own firebending was far more powerful than mine, of course - he was the Avatar, after all, and I still remained only an average bender in terms of the size and power of the flames I could control. But the fine control over the light and heat of those flames that came so naturally to me now was something special. Aang had said as much, and my mother had agreed.

My mother, who had observed the entire time Aang and I practiced together, and for the first time watched me bend without a hint of fear or grief in her eyes.

It was about two hours before noon when the others began to return to the sanctuary - the sages and the acolytes, the summer pilgrims, and of course I knew all three of my own guests would be among them. It should have made me nervous, the three of them together in one room, but I was strangely content with the idea.

“Bumi,” the Great Sage’s voice softly broke through my thoughts. “Open your eyes.”

I did as he commanded, and saw that the fire in my hands was burning a bright, dazzling white - all the colors of light in perfectly balanced combination.  _ That _ was something I had never managed before.

“You’re ready,” the Great Sage said, nodding at me and Wanshu in turn. “Both of you.”

In unison, the two of us folded our hands, putting out our flames for now, and stood, bowing to the Great Sage. Then we turned to face the rest of the assembly behind us.

Aang and my mother stood at the forefront, together of course, on the southern side of the sanctuary. My mother smiled a little when I met her eyes. And there in the front row of the congregation on the northern side was Zuko, who did the same.

Then the ceremony of Agni’s apex began.

Though Kisai had not managed to prevail upon the Great Sage to conduct the ceremony entirely in the ancient Sun Warrior language that time, the rituals were still solemn and complex, and between the firebending and the incense being offered, the already thick summer air was soon hot and heavy with smoke. When all the temple’s bells rang precisely at noon, we knelt before the Great Sage so he could spread blessed oil on our palms. And though we subsequently burned this oil off, any fire we summoned from then on would come from consecrated hands.

After that, the younger acolytes vested us in the formal robes of the fire sages for the first time. It was a mercy, I thought, that unlike the voluminous court dress I had always hated, these robes had short sleeves that left our arms mostly bare, and fell only to mid calf.

Throughout the ceremony, whenever I caught a glimpse of Aang or my mother or Zuko, their eyes were always on me. And all of them looked nothing but proud.

* * *

Afterwards, there were refreshments served in the refectory, light fare in anticipation of the feast that was to come that evening - but more than welcome to me and Wanshu, who had fasted the entire morning.

All of the pilgrims who had come for the summer solstice wanted to offer their congratulations to the new fire sages, of course. That year there was even an old man from Yu Dao - a retired blacksmith, he told me proudly - who had firebenders and earthbenders on both sides of his family, a testament to how thoroughly blended the heritage of the new United Republic was. He had decided to come visit the Fire Nation for the first time in his old age.

“In Yu Dao, we never forgot what your father did for us, you know,” the old man told me solemnly.

I blinked in surprise at this statement. “You mean the negotiations for your independence?” Aang had played a crucial role in that moment, the first step to lay the foundations for what later became the United Republic.

The old man gave me a strange look. “Oh yeah,” he said, half to himself. “I guess he is your father, too.” But he shrugged off this notion with ease, and went on. “I meant how Lord Zuko defended us against the Earth King, what it could have cost him everything.”

I nodded - a bit stiffly with the unfamiliar weight of the fire sage’s headdress - but I understood what he meant now. Zuko had been the first to recognize that the old colonies like Yu Dao had their own identity, a mix of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, and a unique culture that couldn’t just go back to the way things had been before the war. Perhaps it was no wonder that he, like the old blacksmith, had never found it difficult to accept that I, too, could be both one thing and another, and entirely myself.

As for Zuko, he had not yet joined us in the refectory - I had seen him draw the Great Sage aside to discuss some matter, though I was sure both would join us presently. In the meantime, once all the polite congratulations of the pilgrims and acolytes had been received, I had Aang and my mother to talk to.

My mother had her arm looped through Aang’s, and stayed close by his side, even when she reached out affectionately to tug at the broad collar of my new fire sage robes. “It is funny to see you dressed like that,” she admitted with a nostalgic smile. “My little boy.”

“But it looks good on you,” Aang said as I felt myself flush slightly with embarrassment.

“It does,” my mother agreed.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Both of you, for being here - it means a lot to me.” But before I could say anything more, a sort of hush fell over the room, followed by a quiet murmur as the rest of the people gathered around pretended that they weren’t all watching the same person.

Zuko had just arrived.

The Great Sage stood beside him, but with a nod between them they quickly parted ways. Aang and my mother followed my gaze to see Zuko making his way steadily towards us. I had discussed this moment beforehand, briefly, with each of them, and we had all agreed. On this day of all days, they could not avoid each other.

Zuko drew up opposite Aang and my mother, at a respectful distance, so that I was standing perpendicular to both of them. He gave Aang a polite half-bow. “Avatar Aang.” Then he repeated the gesture to my mother. “Master Katara.” They acknowledged him each in turn with a silent nod.

I remembered how Aang had greeted Zuko with a hug, all those years ago when he visited us on Air Temple Island, and how he and my mother had awkwardly hung back from each other. If polite formality between them showed how far Aang and Zuko still were from their former friendship, it was at least an improvement over what had happened at the last United Republic summit they had both attended.

Still, I saw how my mother’s hand had tensed on Aang’s arm.

If Zuko noticed, he made no sign, but quickly turned his attention to me. “Fire Sage Bumi,” he said, offering me the same bow, but with a smile. “I’m very proud of you.”

“We all are,” Aang replied.

Zuko’s gaze darted from Aang to my mother, as she spoke a quiet word of agreement.

“Of course,” Zuko said, closing his eyes and likewise inclining his head. I got the impression he was working very hard to avoid holding my mother’s eye for too long. It certainly would not do for him to stare, not when everyone else in the room was surreptitiously watching us. When he opened his eyes again, he looked back to me - safer territory - and was about to speak again when my mother cut him off.

“Lord Zuko,” she said, voice soft but steady, also not looking at him but at me instead. “I believe I owe you a proper apology.” That startled Zuko into looking back at her, as her own eyes shifted apprehensively from me to him and then to Aang, who placed his hand over my mother’s where it rested on his arm and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I…” She looked back to Zuko, who was no longer making any effort to look anywhere else but at her, and held his gaze at last. “I’m sorry.”

Decades of being the Fire Lord had made Zuko skilled at keeping his emotions from showing in his face when he did not want them to. Still, I thought I saw something like a storm pass through his eyes at that moment, something dark and deep like the ocean or the secrets of my mother’s heart.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said.

Then he turned to Aang, once again clearly intending to say more, but Aang held up his hand to silence him, shaking his head. “Not today, Lord Zuko,” he said.

Zuko nodded in acceptance of this sentence, congratulated me once more, and then excused himself from our company to go congratulate Wanshu. The rest of the room palpably relaxed, whether disappointed or relieved that nothing more sensational had happened, I did not care to speculate.

I would make a point to speak to Zuko a little later on, by myself, and to describe to him and Aang each in turn how my fire had turned white that morning. But there would be no more words between Zuko and Aang and my mother. They had said all that could be said at that point. The lines were clearly drawn now - nothing like the good old days, of course, for that well had been poisoned, but for the first time in years a status quo that was at least unambiguous, and even more comfortable than it had been in a long time.

We all knew where we stood - where we belonged.

* * *

It turned out that what Zuko had been discussing with the Great Sage was a gift that he had brought for me.

Ordinarily, we did not receive personal gifts, for the sages of Roku’s temple lived an acetic life with few possessions of our own - one or two family pictures or other keepsakes, the clothes we wore, and perhaps a pai sho set we could call ours, but everything else belonged to the temple, not to us. Zuko knew this well, and knew I would not have wanted any sort of exception made in my case.

But the gift he had brought was not, strictly speaking, from him.

After the sanctuary doors were closed at sunset and the evening’s feast had been celebrated, the Great Sage asked me to come to the library again before I retired to my new cell for the night. There, I found Zuko waiting for us, and a flat, rectangular object wrapped in a white cloth set out on one of the reading tables.

It was a particular situation, the Great Sage said carefully, but he had determined the gift could be accepted as a donation to the temple, though he would let me decide what should be done with it. With that enigmatic explanation, he left us.

“It’s from Azula,” Zuko said in response to my evident confusion, once the two of us were alone.

“It’s a painting?” I asked, though I knew there was nothing else it could be. Still, I was surprised. I had not been in contact with Azula directly since my one visit to her, though I knew Zuko had been to see her once or twice. He had mentioned her ongoing fascination with painting the dragon’s fire, but given the curt dismissal I had gotten, I didn’t think my aunt would still be at all concerned with  _ me. _

“She worked on it for a long time,” Zuko confirmed as I stepped closer to the table. “And she was quite insistent, it was for you.”

I drew back the cloth covering from the canvas. The painting, framed in gilt woodwork, was unsurprisingly dominated by blue tones - a rough sea of aquamarine and turquoise waves striking against dark cliffs in the foreground, midnight blue storm clouds overhead, and in the distant background, electric blue forks of lightning striking indigo mountain peaks. The landscape, I realized, was a real location - the same cliffs outside the Fire Nation capital where I had faced the trial of the heart, and failed.

The lone human figure in the scene, atop the cliffs, was too small to identify on his own, though Azula had clearly posed him midway through the dancing dragon form. But he was not the central feature of the painting. Dominating the focal point of the composition was a plume of fire in the shape of a dragon, the flames that made up its serpentine body every shade of orange, green, blue, and purple - a dragon of dragon’s fire, with a pure white flame issuing from its mouth. In the midst of storm and chaos, that lonely firebender had used his gifts to make something beautiful.

“How did she know?” I asked, eyes fixed on the white flame. I hadn’t even known myself, when I saw her, if I would ever be able to achieve that kind of harmony. I had half not believed it was even possible until I had seen the white fire myself that very morning.

“I told you, Azula can be right about some things,” Zuko replied, coming to stand next to me in front of the painting. “Sometimes, she even sees things before anyone else can.”

I ran one finger over the detailing of the gilt frame. The painting itself was a masterpiece, and I dared not touch it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Zuko chuckled. “That’s exactly what the Great Sage and I were both wondering. He said he could find a place to display it in the temple, perhaps here in the library, if you want it to stay here.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked. Rejecting such a gift certainly wasn’t an option.

“Azula insisted I give it to you,” Zuko said again. I glanced at him to see his gaze slowly roaming over every detail of the painting. “But then she said you’d know what to do with it. So I don’t think she’d mind, if you gave it away.”

“The scene is based on the trials,” I mused to myself. “Did you talk to her about that?”

“No,” Zuko said emphatically, shaking his head, and I knew he wouldn’t have. “Did you?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but then I realized what I had gone to speak to her about. “I guess I did,” I said, looking back down at the stormy scene. “After a fashion.” I had shown her the dragon’s fire I had developed out of my failure at that trial, and asked her about her anger at her own mother. It was enough, apparently, for someone like Azula to piece things together.

And just like that, I knew what to do with the painting.

* * *

My mother was as impressed by the painting as I had been, when I showed it to her in the library the next day. “Azula painted this?” she asked, though she sounded skeptical and perhaps a bit wary. Of course, she hadn’t seen Azula in a long time.

“She’s an amazing artist,” I explained, thinking of her private gallery on Ember Island, all those works of art that most people would never get to see. “I guess it was her way of finding peace.”

My mother nodded. “It’s beautiful.” She glanced around the library, where of course most of the wall space was already filled with shelves. “Is it going to be hung in here?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I want you to have it.”

“Me?” my mother replied, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

I took a step back, drew in a deep breath, and formed a dragon out of fire, like I had once done for Aang. It was much smaller than the one in the painting, but just as colorful, and with the same white flame coming out of its mouth. “I’m not a very powerful bender, and I still don’t think I could generate lightning, but I can do this.” I let the dragon dissolve back into a small, amorphous flame, which I held cupped in both hands, and let all the colors blend into white fire. “Azula took up painting to let go of her anger. That was her way out. This was mine.”

My mother came closer, and cradled the backs of my hands in her palms, looking down at the bright flame. “It is very special, what you can do,” she said. Then, blinking from the dazzling white light, she looked up at me, her eyes shining.

I pressed my palms together, putting out the fire. “I know, Mom.” She was still holding both of my hands, though they were larger than her own. I was not the little boy who blindly trusted her every word anymore, but neither was she that frightened young woman who had told all those lies out of shame. We had both grown since then, even as she remained my mother, and I her son. 

My mother smiled. “I am glad it’s no longer a secret,” she said softly.

Once, this admission from her would have made me angry, or at least called up that hollow feeling, eating away at any joy her words should have brought me - for it was her own fault that my bending had ever been a secret in the first place. Even now, none of the remorse she felt or peace I had found could erase the pain of what she had done to me in the past. All excuses and allowances having been made, I still knew that the affair had been wrong, that her lies had been wrong, and that I was hardly the only one to have suffered for them.

Yet Aang had known these things, too, and had forgiven her nonetheless, because he had decided that aleviating her pain was more important than clinging to his own. Azula’s art was still full of turbulence and violence, but she had chosen to create something from it rather than let it destroy her. Could I really do the same, when it counted most?

“It’s taken me a long time,” I said, my voice growing rough, as I shifted my hands so that they gripped hers. “I’ve had to keep trying. But now, I’m not angry at you anymore.”

My mother said nothing in reply. One tear fell down her face, then another. Letting go of her hands, I gripped her shoulders instead, pulling her close into a hug. Resting her cheek against my chest, she let herself cry. And I was finally able to comfort her.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to hang it up or anything,” I said after a moment, still rubbing soothing circles on her back like she had done for me when I was a child. I could imagine that a painting done by the woman who had once tried to kill her, however beautiful and meaningful it might be, wouldn’t necessarily be something either she or Aang would want on the wall of their living room. “But it should belong to you.”

My mother pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Well,” she said, composing herself as she stepped back over to the table where the painting still lay. “I certainly never thought I’d have anything to thank Azula for.” I chuckled at this, and she looked back over her shoulder at me, smiling again. “Will you tell her that for me?”

“Sure,” I replied, pleased with this response. I had never written to Azula before, but I was already planning to send her a letter thanking her for the painting, at least. “I guess destiny can be a funny thing like that.”

My mother nodded, reaching down to grip the painting by its gilt frame and tilt it up to a better angle for her to examine the image of her son bending the dragon’s fire in the midst of a storm. “It certainly can,” she agreed.

* * *

Aang and my mother left Crescent Island that afternoon, with Azula’s masterpiece tucked carefully into Appa’s saddle. They were headed to the Foggy Swamp, where Kya was living temporarily, on their way back to the south pole. Zuko departed the following morning, for Hira’a to visit Kiyi, and then to return to the Fire Nation capital - for even though he might have had many of his old crew with him once again, he was not in fact banished from his home this time.

The three of them would never again visit me all at the same time, an arrangement with which all parties concerned would be content one way or another - not least of all the Great Sage.

In the years that followed, Wanshu was transferred to the capital, and Taegon assigned as an army chaplain, though the number of new acolytes coming into Roku’s temple continued to grow - and thus so did the variety of pai sho players I got to hone my skills against. By the time the Great Sage retired and Kisai replaced him, we had begun work on an expansion of the temple to include a new dormitory wing, and the old dormitory was being converted to additional cells for the sages, who had also grown in number.

Izumi and Iyego had three more children - Iroh, Ireni, and Ianzo followed Ilah in the order of succession, and after the birth of the youngest prince, Iyego’s father finally began speaking to him again. Aza and his wife never quite managed to make the estate they had inherited as profitable as either of their families would have liked, but they were happy together nonetheless, and continued to dote on their son. 

I kept waiting for some word of either Kya or Tenzin settling down, but it never came. Lin Beifong abruptly moved back to Republic City and entered the police academy, leaving my brother to travel between the air temples on his own - what exactly had happened between them, Aang either did not know or would not say.

There were still scars, I thought, from all that had happened, and unfortunately a great deal of them seemed to concern Tenzin. That was the one thing that did not sit right with me during that time.

But on the whole, fully reconciled with my parents and living my vocation as a fire sage, I was fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people seemed to think the previous chapter was meant to be the last, so I'd just like to point out that this one isn't the end of the story, either. One more chapter to go!


	13. A Light in the Darkness

I was forty-five years old the year that Aang died.

Aang had his reasons for traveling less those last few years, and remaining more at the south pole. In large part it had to do with my mother. But it had not escaped my notice, on the occasions that I saw him, that he also no longer had the energy he once did. In some ways, my father had always seemed eternally young in my eyes, and he still didn’t look even his physical age, yet he had been alive for one hundred and sixty-five years. He was, whether I wanted to admit it or not, a very old man.

And that spring, his health took a turn for the worse.

In his last letter to me, he had complained of a chest cold. I rarely remembered him ever being sick before, but he hadn’t seemed concerned, and so neither had I been. But a few weeks later, my mother wrote to me that he wasn’t getting better, and none of the healers had been able do anything for him. She said she had asked Kya and Tenzin to come, and wanted me to join them as soon as I could. She didn’t say why, not directly, but I knew as I set out for the south pole that we were all being called to say our last goodbyes.

It was Kya who met me coming off the ship. She was dressed in the shorter style parka and trousers that many of the younger women of the water tribe had taken up, and I had exchanged my traditional fire sage robes for warmer attire, but each of us was decked out in the proper blue and red, respectively. She hugged me tighter than usual.

I had expected to find a somber deathbed vigil when we got back to the house, but to my surprise Aang was sitting up in bed with a wooden lap desk, absorbed in writing. My mother and Tenzin were seated in chairs on either side of him, though my mother of course got up quickly to greet me. “Now everyone’s here,” she exclaimed, holding fast to my hand. 

Tenzin, who had remained seated, met my eye and nodded solemnly.

My mother guided me over to the chair she had just vacated, then sat on the foot of the bed herself. Kya went to Tenzin’s side and rested one elbow on top of his head - then leaned on the back of his chair instead after he shoved her off with an irritated huff.

“Dad,” I said, looking at the papers strewn over his lap. “What’s all this?”

Aang set down his pen with a sigh. “Memories,” he said, his voice low and weak. He cleared his throat and flexed his hand, which must have been cramped from writing. “History, old stories, that sort of thing.” I knew he had been working on his memoirs for the past several years, and he must have been rushing to finish them now. He leaned back against the pillows propping him up, looking tired and thin, and turned towards me, reaching out for my hand. “It’s good to see you, Bumi.”

Tenzin was already collecting the various papers and writing implements. “You should rest, Dad,” he said, arranging the papers in a neat stack. “I’ll work on sorting these.” Then, with a pointed look at my mother, he swept out of the room.

Though he was still holding on to my hand, Aang’s eyes were half-lidded. He did need to rest, clearly. After we exchanged a few more simple words, I left his bedside, with Kya close behind me.

“Has Tenzin been…” I began when my sister and I were alone in the hall.

Kya nodded in answer to my unfinished question. “You know what he’s like.”

And I did know. Since our adolescent parting of ways, I had seen my brother in person a handful of times, always with the same cool distance between us. Tenzin had been a serious child, but it saddened me to see how he had grown into such a dour adult. Still, part of me had hoped that this was only his resentment towards me, and that with the rest of the family he would be different. It seemed I had hoped in vain.

“Where is he now?” I asked.

Kya pointed down the hall. “In the study.” When I started in that direction, she grabbed me by the elbow. “He’s organizing Dad’s memoirs,” she said pointedly. When I showed no sign of taking her point, she sighed and explained. “Dad’s writing down everything he can remember about the Air Nomads.”

“Oh,” I said, looking at the closed study door. Aang was using up the last of his strength to leave a written record of the Air Nomad culture - for the man who would soon be the last of the Air Nomads. There had been times, in my younger years, when I had wished I was a nonbender, or a waterbender, and I had certainly wished I was Aang’s son by blood. I had never specifically wished I was an airbender, nor did I then. But I did wish that Tenzin didn’t have to face that alone.

But, Air Nomad or not, I was still his older brother.

Pulling my arm out of Kya’s grip, I continued down the hall and knocked on the study door. There was a faint noise of acknowledgement from the other side, so I let myself in. Kya did not follow me, but she didn’t try to stop me again, either.

Tenzin was standing over Aang’s desk, sorting the freshly written pages among several stacks that I assumed were categorized. His brow was furrowed in concentration, making him look even more serious - so different from Aang, even though the resemblance between them had been heightened ever since Tenzin had received his tattoos. As I watched, he placed two pages on top of one stack, then picked up a pencil and jotted something down on a list of his own notes. “What do you want?” he asked curtly.

“I don’t even get a hello from my only brother?” I replied.

“Hello,” Tenzin said, glancing at me briefly. “Now if that’s all, I’ve got work to do here…”

“With Dad’s memoirs, I know,” I said, approaching the side of the desk and tilting my head to read some of the visible pages. The one on top of the pile closest to me contained the familiar mantra of the four winds. “I remember him teaching me that,” I said, tapping the page and smiling fondly.

Tenzin gave me a skeptical look over the top of the papers in his hand. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, picking up the page and holding it out for him to see. “I used to do midday prayers with the Air Acolytes all the time.” But that had been years and years ago, when my fire had been tamped down, and Tenzin had only been five years old when I ran away from that pressure. “I guess you wouldn’t remember that.”

Tenzin’s expression softened ever so slightly. He tossed the papers he was sorting down on the seat of the desk chair and took the page with the mantra from my hand. “Dad was only twelve,” he said, eyes roaming over the characters written in a shaky hand. “He’d only learned the mantras, really, not the full language, and hardly any of the script…”

And of course, it went without saying, there weren’t many other records left of the ancient Air Nomad tongue, beyond what limited knowledge Aang possessed.

“The Sun Warrior language is similar,” I pointed out. With Kisai as our Great Sage, we were using the language extensively by that point, and I was as fluent as anyone at the temple. “The script is different, but if we did a comparative study, I’m sure we could reconstruct a lot of the grammar, and some of the vocabulary.”

Tenzin forcefully replaced the mantra page on top of its pile. “That’s not the point.”

“Tenzin,” I said softly, as my brother snatched up the stack of papers from the chair and resumed reading over them, breathing heavily through his nose. “I’m just trying to help.”

“That’s not the help I wanted,” Tenzin muttered under his breath.

“Well,” I said, resting my hands on my hips. “What sort of help did you want?”

Tenzin looked surprised - perhaps that I had heard him, or perhaps simply that I had pressed the question. He seemed to struggle with something inside himself, but eventually he let out a frustrated sigh and sat down in Aang’s desk chair. “What I said, years ago,” he began, idly thumbing the edges of the stack of papers in his hand. “When I said I wished you were never born. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I was surprised Tenzin even remembered saying that. I hadn’t thought about it in years - the frustrated words of a hurt child, long ago forgiven. “I know you didn’t mean it,” I offered.

“That’s true,” Tenzin agreed, pulling one sheet out of the stack and adding it to the pile next to the four winds mantra. “But what I did mean, what I really wanted at the time…” He set the rest of the papers down on the crowded desktop, and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips to his temples. “I wanted a different you,” he said quietly. “I wanted an older brother who was an airbender like me.”

Well, feeling isolated from one’s siblings because of one’s bending was certainly something I could understand. I rested one hand on his shoulder, and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry you’re the only airbender. But you’re not alone.”

Tenzin didn’t say anything in reply. But after a moment, he reached across with his opposite hand, laid it on top of mine on his shoulder, and gently squeezed back.

Then he cleared his throat, business-like. “Here,” he said, picking up the pile of papers with the mantra page on top and handing the whole thing to me. “This is what Dad’s written recently about the language. Have a look at it.”

“Gladly,” I replied, taking the papers from him. Tenzin got back to work sorting, and I took a seat in one of the two armchairs at the back of the room, which meant I was facing the door of the study for the first time since I had entered the room. 

Hanging in the alcove next to the door, above a low tea table and cushions, was Azula’s painting, in all its vibrant color.

* * *

The next few days passed. Kya, Tenzin, and I would take turns sitting with my father when he was awake, while my mother stayed by his side near continuously. Most of his waking hours, he spent writing, sometimes thinking out loud, or having us ask questions to prompt his memory. Most of his focus was on the first twelve years of his life, and everything he knew about Air Nomad culture and history, but there were stories from after his awakening from the iceberg that he wanted to set down as well.

I was sitting with him the morning he wrote about his first visit to the Sun Warriors during the war, with Zuko. My mother quietly excused herself from the room during the recounting of that particular tale.

Later that afternoon, as Kya and I helped Tenzin sort through that day’s writing once again, my brother came to one of the last pages, frowned as he read it, and then glanced conspicuously at me where I sat in the armchair again.

“Did he write more about the language?” I asked, setting down the notes I was making about case markers in the mantras. The Air Nomad tongue had quickly become my area of focus.

“No,” Tenzin replied. He moved as if to toss the page in the wastepaper basket next to the desk, then thought better of it. “It looks like the start of a letter.”

Kya, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looked up from the pages of Air Nomad history she had spread before her and was attempting to put into chronological order. “Who’s Dad writing to?” she asked. My mother had already sent letters to Sokka and Toph, who were on their way to the south pole, and of course all of us in the immediate family were already there.

Tenzin didn’t answer, just set the paper drifting towards me with a flick of his wrist. I snatched it out of the air. It was clearly a draft letter, unfinished and full of crossed out lines. But my eyes immediately landed on the salutation at the top of the page. “It’s addressed to Zuko,” I answered my sister’s question.

“Oh,” Kya said thoughtfully, resting her hands on her knees. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Tenzin shrugged. “I don’t know why Dad would be thinking of him now…”

“Because,” Kya cut him off, getting to her feet. “They _ were _ friends once, you know.” She came and read the fragmentary draft over my shoulder. “But if he didn’t finish the letter…”

I looked back at Tenzin. “Should I say something to him about it?”

Something in my brother’s eyes went cold, closed off. “I don’t see what good it will do,” he said curtly. “But that’s your decision.” Then he went back to his work. I thought I understood. Zuko was my father, not his, after all. That would always be what set me apart from him and Kya.

But that fact had never affected only me.

I did speak to Aang once again that evening, going to his bedside just as my mother was clearing away the half-eaten bowl of soup she had brought him for dinner. She gave me a tired smile as she left the room, patient and long-suffering, but still so much fuller than those broken smiles from the years of her exile.

“She knows she’s losing me,” Aang said in his weak voice, after my mother had closed the door and left the two of us alone. I took the chair she had just vacated by his bedside. “But she’s grateful for every moment we have left together.” He reached for me feebly, and I leaned forward to grasp his hand. “I’m grateful, too,” he went on. “There was a time, you know, when I thought I might never see her again…” The light of the long spring day was just beginning to fade, and the lines on his face stood out in sharp contrast as he squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on my hand was surprisingly strong.

“Dad,” I said softly. “Do you want me to write to him?”

Aang didn’t have to ask who I meant. “I spoke to your mother about it,” he said, lifting his other hand, with a slight tremor, to rub at his eyes. “I suppose it’s now or never.”

That was not an enthusiastic reply. I shifted in my chair, resting my other hand on top of his. “Do you want him to come?”

“No,” Aang replied bluntly, then swallowed hard. “But I’ve put this off long enough.” His hand fell from his face, and he opened his eyes, turning to face me. “Would you write to him? That might make it...a little easier.”

“Of course,” I said with a resolute nod. “Anything I can do to help.”

* * *

Sokka arrived first, and Toph a few days after him. She stayed with Sokka at his house, where there was more space, though both of them spent most of their time with Aang, sharing stories and old jokes as lifelong friends are wont to do. It was admittedly something of a distraction from Aang’s writing, which Tenzin was not happy about, until Aang quietly told him he had little energy left to write, anyway. Preserving the Air Nomad culture for posterity would have to be Tenzin’s task, now.

Zuko replied to my letter to let us know he was on his way from Ember Island, and his ship made it to the south pole in record time. By mutually agreed upon arrangement, I was of course the one who would escort Zuko from his ship to the house - Chief Kotak would not greet him, nor would any other member of the tribe - while Kya, Sokka, and Toph accompanied my mother back to Sokka’s house for the duration of the visit. Tenzin would wait with Aang until Zuko’s arrival.

Zuko and I did not speak much as we walked through the town. Children playing in the streets stopped and stared, and men and women going about their business looked away and gave us a wide berth, but Zuko kept his eyes fixed ahead, intent on his goal, his head held upright and shoulders squared with determination. No amount of shame would keep him from doing what needed to be done, this time.

I ushered him into the room where Aang lay, trying not to heed the feeling like I was bringing a man before his doom - though I was not sure whether Zuko or Aang would be facing the greater test, here at the end.

Aang was, thankfully, awake when we came in, though after only a quick glance at Zuko his eyes hardened and fixed on the far wall. Tenzin rose from his chair at the side of the bed, ready to leave the room - he and I had both expected to leave the two of them to talk in private. But Aang lifted one hand, bidding him to stay, then met my eye and gestured for me to come closer. “Both of my sons should be here,” he said pointedly.

I glanced uncertainly at Zuko, but he only nodded in agreement, so I crossed the room and stood at Aang’s other side. Tenzin, frowning at Zuko, did not sit back down, so I remained standing as well, hands clasped behind my back. My brother and I together, flanking our father, and Zuko facing all three of us.

Silence hung heavily on the room. Zuko waited - he too was old by then, of course, his hair mostly gray, and the sharp lines of his face and scar softened with age and wrinkles, but he stood straight and tall, with a strength that Aang no longer possessed. Propped up in bed with pillows, barely able to hold his own head up for any extended period of time, Aang was a pathetic sight by contrast, made only more so by the sour expression he had been unable to hide since Zuko had walked through the door.

I thought, for a moment, that might be it, that Aang might stare Zuko down in silence and finally send him away, having come all this way for nothing. But then Zuko stepped forward to the side of the bed I stood on, and lowered himself determinedly if unsteadily onto trembling knees that further betrayed his own age. If he could have pressed his forehead to the floor, I suspect he would have, but as it was contented himself to bow his head. “Aang,” he said, with no pretense of formality. “Thank you for letting me be here.”

“You might not want to thank me too soon,” Aang said darkly, staring past him to the wall again. “I haven’t made up my mind yet what to say to you.”

“Even so,” Zuko replied, unflinching, though he left it at that.

Aang looked down at Zuko’s hunched, kneeling form. “Sozin and Roku,” he said slowly. “They ended as bitter enemies. You remember.”

Zuko’s head bowed a little bit lower. “But they had started out as friends.”

“You and I started as enemies,” Aang went on in the same tone. “I had once thought we would end as friends.”

Zuko’s shoulders sank ever so slightly, but when he spoke again it was not without hope. “I thought so, too.”

Aang gave a definite _ hmph, _ perhaps dismissive of this bygone friendship - or perhaps just clearing his throat. “Tell me, Zuko,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Do you still believe we are free to choose our own destiny?”

Zuko did not hesitate. “I do.”

“In that case,” Aang replied, sitting up a little straighter, as much as he could. “What sort of destiny have you chosen for yourself?”

Again, Zuko answered without a moment’s delay. “To ask your forgiveness, once more.”

Aang seemed unmoved by this declaration at first. I glanced over at Tenzin, and saw that he was staring fixedly at Aang, even leaning forward as if eager to see what he would do. I could not deny my own, equally intense interest - we all knew what had happened the first time Zuko had tried to apologize, and Aang himself soon frowned, perhaps at that very memory. But I had the uncharitable suspicion, which I quickly tried to dismiss, that my brother and I were hoping for opposite resolutions this time.

“What if I refuse?” Aang asked noncommittally, disappointing both of us. He sounded strained, even more so than his illness had made him of late.

Resting on his knees, Zuko’s hands curled into fists. “Please, do not.”

With great difficulty, Aang threw back the bedcovers and attempted to push himself up from his reclining position. Tenzin and I both had to lean in to help him, holding him upright as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, so that I wound up sitting next to him with his arm over my shoulder, while Tenzin knelt on the foot of the bed with his hand on Aang’s back. Supported between the two of us, Aang sat facing Zuko fully. “I should at least thank you for coming to see me,” he said, his voice low. “Last time.”

“That time was for her sake,” Zuko replied. “This time is for ours.”

Perilously, Aang leaned forward, and rested his right hand on the crown of Zuko’s still bowed head. “Thank you for that as well. I have decided…” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I would still like us to end as friends.”

Zuko raised his head at last, eyes shining. Aang’s hand brushed over his face, the spot just below his scar that had once been bruised where he had struck him, before Zuko reached up and caught his hand in his own. “I am glad.”

Tenzin almost looked disappointed. But Zuko got to his feet - I had to reach out and help him up, too - and Aang pulled him into a fraternal embrace, not bothering to hide his own tears, and then I could see something change within my brother. Tenzin had few memories of when Aang and Zuko had been on good terms, and had not, I think, realized until that moment how much they had once meant to one another, and how much Aang had been pained not only by the betrayal itself, but by the loss of a dear friend that resulted from it.

Aang’s strength was quickly spent, and he had to lie back down. Zuko stayed by his side, not letting go of his hand. “Do you remember when we found the Sun Warriors?” Aang asked, smiling as he wiped his eyes.

“Of course,” Zuko replied, smiling as well with newfound ease. “How could I forget that?”

The two of them spoke for a long while, about the past and the future. Aang asked Zuko to stay at the south pole for his funeral, which none of us could pretend was far off anymore, and Zuko promised that he would. When at last it was time for Zuko to return to his ship, he assured me he could find his own way back, leaving me to bring word to the others at Sokka’s house.

Toph was of course the first to ask what was on everyone’s mind when I stepped through the door. “How bad is the damage?” was how she put it, which earned a reprimand from Sokka - at which she only shrugged - and an eye roll from my sister - which of course she could not see.

But it was on my mother - silent and apprehensive - that my attention was fixed. “It’s okay,” I said, holding her gaze. “They’re alright.”

My mother sighed in relief, knowing exactly what I meant.

  
“Alright?” Toph echoed. “As in, nobody needs medical attention alright? Or as in, we all kiss and make up and we’re friends again alright?”

I laughed at her description. “Why don’t you go put it to Zuko that way and see what he says?”

“I think I will,” Toph replied, getting to her feet. “I haven’t bullied him enough for a long time.” For good measure, she swatted me on the shoulder as she pushed past me out the door, but she also muttered, “Well done, Junior,” just loud enough for me to hear.

The rest of us returned to Aang’s bedside - my mother most eagerly, of course - but found him asleep. My mother sat beside him anyway, took hold of his hand, and kissed it.

* * *

The last words that Aang spoke were to my mother.

We all knew the end was near. Kya, Tenzin, and I were all gathered around him. Memoirs and ancient languages seemed so inconsequential at that moment - no written history could replace the father we were losing. Aang held each of our hands in turn, and told us that he loved us. To me, he said that he was proud of me, as he had often done. To Kya, he said that she was his treasure, his only daughter. And to Tenzin, he said he was his hope.

The three of us huddled together - my arm around Kya’s shoulders, her hand grasping Tenzin’s - as Aang turned to our mother.

“You have been the best part of my life,” he said, taking her hand. “I'm sorry I'm leaving you again now. I don't want you to be sad."

"I don't blame you, Aang, for anything,” my mother replied, lifting his hand and holding it to her heart. Her tears flowed freely, but she was otherwise composed, grieved but not broken as she had once been. “I love you."

Aang smiled at her. "And I have always loved you, Katara."

Then his eyes drifted closed in a sleep from which he would never wake. He continued to draw shallow breaths for a while, but eventually these too came to an end. Kya comforted our mother as I arranged his lifeless hands on his chest and drew the covers over the body, while Tenzin softly recited an ancient Air Nomad prayer for the departed spirit. A few lines in, I came to his side and joined him.

It was as peaceful a death as anyone could have wished for.

* * *

It seemed like the whole world turned out for the funeral.

The Northern Water Tribe chief made a rare trip to the south, Earth Kingdom princes and dignitaries arrived by the score, and of course all the Air Acolytes had to be there. Izumi and Iyego came with all of their children as well - Princess Ilah was now a young woman of eighteen, while Prince Ianzo, their youngest, was only ten. Prince Iroh, the second eldest at sixteen, stood taller than his older sister already, about the same height I had been at his age. Twelve-year-old Princess Ireni, who most resembled Izumi out of all the children, was shy and stuck close to her parents - though at the funeral itself, she stood next to Zuko and held his hand through the whole ceremony.

I stood next to my mother, of course, with Kya and Tenzin close by. We were at the center of the semi-circle of mourners that gathered around the pyre, which I had the responsibility of lighting, while Izumi and the rest of the Fire Nation delegation stood a ways away. They stood out in their white funeral robes, surrounded by Earth Kingdom dignitaries in black. The Water Tribes and Air Nomads had no customary mourning color, so Kya and my mother wore their usual blue, and Tenzin his typical orange and yellow habit with only the addition of the carved wooden necklace that Aang had always worn on special occasions. Like so much else, it had been passed on to him now.

Fire sages alone wore red for funerals, and so this was what I had done.

When the pyre burned down, Tenzin took responsibility for the offering of the ashes to the four winds, as only the world’s lone airbender could do. Kya gave the eulogy, starting with an obligatory acknowledgement of all that Aang had accomplished for the world, but quickly moving on to a more personal reflection on the husband, father, and friend who had shown us such great love - and taught us all a great lesson in forgiveness.

I saw Zuko wipe his eyes at that part, and Ireni leaned in closer to her grandfather’s side.

After the ceremony, there was a quiet, more intimate gathering of family and friends back at the house. Izumi finally got to meet Kya and Tenzin, and though it was not under the happiest of circumstances, I was pleased to see that I had been right, and my two sisters did get on well. Zuko spoke at length with Sokka and Toph, and with Lin and Suyin, who had come to join their mother for the funeral. I did see Lin offer quiet condolences to Tenzin at one point, but things were clearly still strained between them.

But in that family setting, safe from judgmental eyes, Zuko was able offer his condolences to my mother as well. And though my mother’s tears had never quite stopped that day, she thanked him, and then for the first time in my lifetime, she hugged her old friend.

“I’m glad you were here,” I heard her tell him.

“Me too,” Zuko replied. Then, he let her go.

* * *

I went back to my life at the temple after the funeral, the same sacred rhythms that had carried me through so many years in peace. In my ongoing correspondence with my family and friends, I missed Aang’s letters of course, but on the positive side, I heard from Tenzin a good deal more often as we continued our work on the ancient Air Nomad language. I had also mentioned our project to Izumi, who had in turn passed word of it along to the Earth King, who later wrote to me personally to let me know that a collection of Air Nomad poetry in the original language had been found in the archives of Ba Sing Se University. Even more excitingly, the poems had been transcribed in both the Air Nomad script and the standard characters. Tenzin immediately traveled to the Earth Kingdom capital to begin a study of this priceless work.

Zuko continued his travels, between the Fire Nation capital and Ember Island and Hira’a and of course Crescent Island as well. He also went to the United Republic on occasion, once making a stop in Yu Dao, and was even able to visit the Sun Warriors again. There were several new dragon hatchlings that year, and while none would ever be gifted to him, he was once more allowed to appear before the great dragons Ran and Shaw, and that was absolution enough.

Of course, there was other news that the world was waiting on. Once Aang had died, everyone knew the next Avatar would be born into the Southern Water Tribe within the year. Fortunately, the population of the south pole was quite large enough by then that this left many possible candidates - though of course it would take a while after the child’s birth for any bending abilities to manifest.

Yet the day came sooner than any of us had expected that we fire sages received word of a little girl, just four years old, who could apparently bend not just water, but earth and fire as well. As the keepers of the primary shrine to the most recent Fire Nation Avatar, it was the responsibility of the sages of Roku’s temple to confirm the new Avatar’s identity on behalf of our nation, just as representatives from Kyoshi Island would do on behalf of the Earth Kingdom, and a shaman from Kuruk’s shrine at the north pole would do for the Water Tribes. Tenzin would perform this duty on behalf of the Air Nomads, by default.

And Great Sage Kisai, in his wisdom, decided I should be the one to undertake this task.

The Order of the White Lotus had already determined to their own satisfaction that Korra was the Avatar by the time I arrived - and no wonder, given how easily the little girl could bend three out of the four elements. But the formalities had to be observed nonetheless.

“Hold out your hands,” I instructed the child seated opposite me on the floor of her family’s home, as her parents looked on curiously - but silently, for they knew this was their daughter’s test to pass.

Korra looked up at me with wide eyes, a more electric shade of blue than either my mother’s or my sister’s, and a little pout of distrust. “Why?” she demanded.

“So I can put something in them, of course,” I explained. Seeing the little girl was unconvinced, I went for a more reassuring approach. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you.”

Korra’s pout progressed into a full-on frown. “I’m not _ scared,” _she insisted. But then, to my relief, she held out her hands as she had been instructed.

From the bag in my lap, I removed the artefact that Zuko had loaned to me for the occasion - an antique golden crown in the form of a double flame, complete with the pin that secured it in place. I placed it gently in Korra’s outstretched hands. “Do you know what this is?” I asked her.

Korra’s face softened as she examined the object, drawing it a little closer to her. “It’s pretty,” she said appreciatively, then looked back up at me. “It’s a crown.”

“Very good,” I said, nodding. That itself probably should not have been so evident to a Water Tribe child, who would have been unlikely ever to have seen anyone wearing a crown of that style before. But it was not sufficient. “Who does it belong to?”

Korra’s little eyebrows drew together, and she looked back down at the crown in her hands, concentrating. I held my breath in anticipation, and thought, perhaps just for a moment, there was more than a natural gleam in her eyes - nothing like the full Avatar State, of course, but something. For the next words she spoke, sounding suddenly more mature than a child of her tender years, were, “Is the Fire Lord giving it to me again?” 

I let out the breath I had been holding in as a chuckle. “Not yet,” I said apologetically, taking the crown back from her. Korra watched me put it away regretfully. “Maybe someday, when you’re older, Avatar Korra.”

Korra brightened at this use of her title, and I heard her mother laugh as the little girl leaped to her feet. “That’s right!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air triumphantly. “I’m the Avatar! Watch this!” And she proceeded to demonstrate her firebending abilities, already more powerful than my own fire had been when I was more than twice her age, but wild and untamed.

“Yes,” I said, with a surreptitious wink at her anxious parents as I subtly exercised a little of my own bending to keep her fire from burning down the house. “You certainly are.”

* * *

I had performed my duty, and returned to Roku’s temple once again. Korra would demonstrate a similar affinity for Kuruk’s spear, Kyoshi’s fans, and the wooden necklace that Aang had passed down to Tenzin. But having identified the Avatar, it was not our responsibility to train her. For that, the Order of the White Lotus stepped in. I had thought my mother might help with Korra’s waterbending instruction at some point, but she mentioned in one of her letters to me that she wanted the new Avatar to have her own teachers, free from any ties to her past life. I did wonder, however, if this had been entirely her decision. I knew, after all, that if Chief Kotak had made that call, she would obey the wishes of the tribe.

Either way, I did not see Korra again for many years - not until she had fully mastered water, earth, and fire, begun her airbending training in Republic City with Tenzin, and then lost all the progress she had made in her clash with the Equalist movement. It was my mother who wrote to me again, when Korra returned home in discouragement, to ask if I had any advice for her. And so, after consulting with Kisai, I once again set out for the south pole.

It was my brother who met me coming off the ship this time, accompanied by his three oldest children. Jinora greeted me politely, and Ikki enthusiastically. I had expected my nephew, Meelo, whom I had not seen since he was a baby, to be more shy, but he surprised me by immediately running to me full force with a yell and latching on to my leg. “Uncle Bumi,” he said, looking up at me with wide gray eyes, just like Aang’s. “Why are you a firebender?”

Glancing at Tenzin, I saw my brother frown. Of course, he would never have discussed this with Meelo. How could you explain such things to a child?

“I’m a firebender for the same reason you’re an airbender,” I replied, leaning down to detach the little boy from my leg and crouching down to his level, holding both of his hands. “Because the spirits made me that way.”

“Oh.” Meelo tilted his head and blinked, considering. “That’s pretty cool!”

“Yes,” I agreed with a smile. “It is pretty cool.”

“You wanna see something else cool?” Meelo exclaimed, his childish mind already racing ahead to other things. “Watch this!” He pulled away from my grasp and waved his hands, forming a swirling vortex of air between them.

I stood and watched my nephew’s juvenile airbending tricks, giving the requisite praise for each display as his sisters joined in. Tenzin came and stood by my side. “How did you know just the right thing to say to him?” he asked in a low voice.

I turned to look at my solemn, serious younger brother. He was well into middle age himself now, and it suited him in a way that childhood and youth never had. He had been born with his own burdens, after all, no less weighty than mine.

“I just told him the truth,” I said. As Meelo grew bored and ran off, his sisters following after him, Tenzin met my eye and raised a sceptical brow. “He asked me _ why,” _ I pointed out. “Not _ how.” _

Tenzin considered this reply for a moment, much as his son had. And then, amazingly, my serious little brother actually chuckled. “The wisdom of the Fire Sages, I suppose.”

Tenzin brought me back to our mother’s house, where I would be staying, and later that evening he showed Korra into the study where I was waiting for her, and then left us alone. The dispirited young woman who stood before me was a far cry from the rambunctious little girl I had met years earlier. “Fire Sage Bumi,” she greeted me with a polite bow. “Thank you for coming all this way, but…” She trailed off with a shrug, but I knew what she meant. If the greatest healers of the Water Tribes had been unable to help her get her bending back, what could I do?

“Have a seat, kid,” I said, ushering her towards a low table in the alcove by the door, above which the dragon’s fire painting hung. “I’ve brought something for you.” Opening my bag, I took out the pai sho set that Zuko had given me, all those years ago, and began to set it up on the table between us. “You know how to play, right?”

Korra shrugged again, not showing much interest. “A little,” she said, picking up one of the tiles and turning it over in her fingers. “I never really...had the patience for board games.” That I could easily believe. She had been an active child, and a prodigious bender even for an Avatar. What joy could moving game pieces around hold for her compared to using the power of her bending?

“It can be an acquired taste, for some people,” I said gently, setting the last pieces into place. “Perhaps you are ready now.” I gestured to indicate she should make the opening move.

Korra glanced at the tile she had been fidgeting with, set it back down in its place, then picked up the one next to it and moved it three spaces towards the center of the board. It was a sloppy move, uncalculated, that brought her little advantage while leaving me several openings.

“Bold choice,” I said. Considering my own options, I decided to go easy on her for now, and moved one of my bamboo tiles into a neutral position.

The game went on in that manner for several turns. Korra knew the rules of the game, but nothing of its strategy. As I began to score points and capture more of her tiles, her frustration quickly became evident.

“What’s the point of this?” she complained as I turned over her jasmine tile, the last of her earth elements. “I’m not going to get my bending back by losing a pai sho game.”

“Very true,” I agreed, folding my hands inside the wide sleeves of the red cloak I wore against the cold of the polar night. “But you may gain something else by asking yourself why you are losing.”

“Because I’m terrible at this,” Korra immediately shot back, shoving the game board away from her so violently that the pieces spilled all over the floor. “Just like I was terrible at airbending, and terrible at being the Avatar, and terrible at everything except the elements I _ could _ bend, and now I can’t even do that!”

“If you were terrible at being the Avatar,” I replied, unphased by her outburst, “you could not have defeated Amon. And I heard you did some pretty impressive airbending to accomplish that.”

Korra deflated, slouching forward so her chin rested on top of her folded arms on the table. “Yeah, but now I’ll never bend anything again.”

With a sigh, I set about collecting the spilled game pieces. “I think your problem with your bending is the same as your problem with pai sho,” I said, setting a fire lily tile in front of her on the table. “You know the rules, but you don’t understand the game.”

“What’s there to understand?” Korra objected, fidgeting with the game piece again. “You move the pieces around and try to balance the elements.”

“And how do you balance the elements?” I prompted, hoping she was on the right path to the answers she needed.

“By creating harmonies between opposites,” Korra replied, picking up a moon peach tile that had fallen by her knee and placing it next to the fire lily.

“Correct,” I said, placing a panda lily and a bamboo tile with the others, so the four elements formed a little circle: fire, air, water, earth. “And why do the opposite elements balance each other?”

Korra shifted, sitting more upright so her chin rested on one hand, and gave me a blank look. “Isn’t that just what opposites do?”

“Hmm,” I said. “Yes, I see your problem very clearly now.” Reaching into my bag once more, I retrieved a book I had borrowed from the temple library. “I’m afraid I am going to have to try your patience a little bit more.”

Korra scowled as I handed her the book. “A Treatise on the Theory and Game Play of Pai Sho?” she read from the cover. “Are you serious?”

“Quite,” I replied with a smile. “General Iroh’s writings on the subject are very illuminating. Read that and come back to me tomorrow afternoon, and we will play again.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” Korra echoed, eyeing the thick volume with evident skepticism. 

“Do you think you can finish it by morning?” I asked innocently.

Korra sighed. “Right, tomorrow afternoon it is.” She stood, bowed politely again, and took her leave. As she walked away, I caught her muttering to herself, “Not like I’ve got anything else to do anyway.”

Chuckling to myself, I finished picking up the pai sho tiles. As I set the game back to rights, I glanced up at the painting on the wall again, knowing that these things took time.

* * *

Korra returned promptly the next day. “Did you enjoy your reading?” I asked, ushering her to the same seat at the table, where the pai sho board was already set.

“No,” she replied honestly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you finish your reading?”

“Mostly,” she said, without a hint of shame. “Enough to find your answer. It’s the energies. That’s what makes the opposite elements balance each other.”

“Not bad,” I said, sitting across from her. “If you had read to the end, you might have learned more, but that is a good start. And since you’re here…” This time I made the opening move, a far more aggressive maneuver with the white dragon blossom. “We might as well play.”

To her credit, Korra considered her first move more carefully this time. Her choice was still a reckless one, putting her chrysanthemum tile into play so early, but it was a gamble that a skilled player stood a fair chance of seeing pay off. Unfortunately, one day’s cursory reading had not made a skilled player of her. Three turns later, she let out a huff of frustration as her chrysanthemum fell into my hands.

“The game isn’t over yet,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but I still don’t see what this has to do with bending,” she complained, scanning the board as she planned her next move. Her eyes landed on a cherry blossom tile I had left tantalizingly within her range two turns ago, just one move away from creating a harmony, and her face lit up as she finally realized she could capture it. She even let out a triumphant “Ha!” as she did so.

“Don’t you?” I questioned, moving the captured chrysanthemum into a position that suited me better. “Then we must keep playing until you do.”

Korra rolled her eyes. Oh, she must have driven Tenzin mad, I thought. “I mean obviously there’s the four elements and creating balance and all that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She reached for one of her water elements, then hesitated and glanced up at me. I kept my face carefully impassive. She hummed to herself and withdrew her hand from the tile, reconsidering. “Anyone can see there are connections in _ theory. _ I just don’t get how the two are related in _ practice.” _Picking up an air element instead, she executed her move definitively this time.

Just as definitively, I captured that piece as well. Korra let out an indignant whine, slamming her hands on the table, but did not upset the board this time. In a few more turns, the game was over anyway.

“I lost even faster that time,” Korra complained as I put the game pieces away - a much easier task when they were not scattered across the floor.

“Perhaps you will fare better tomorrow, when you have finished your reading,” I said pointedly.

Korra sighed. “Of course, Master Bumi.” Her bow was a touch ironic when she took her leave. Yes, she would have made Tenzin absolutely crazy. But I took it as a good sign, that her spirits had at least been lifted a little.

* * *

“I already knew it was the energies,” Korra said without preamble when she arrived the next day. “The conclusion of your boring old book doesn’t say anything more than that.” She dropped the boring old book in question down on the table to emphasize her point.

I smiled up at her serenely. “You finished the reading, then?”

“Yeah, and it was a waste of time, just like this stupid game,” Korra replied, kicking the edge of the table. Her fire was coming back in temperament if not in actual fact.

“Then we won’t play today,” I said, getting to my feet and heading towards the door.

“No we…” Korra began to argue, before she realized what I’d said. “Wait,” she called, hurrying to follow me out of the room, and then out of the house. “We won’t?”

“Not today.” I headed away from the town, towards the east where the winter sun was just making its brief midday appearance above the horizon. When we were in a sufficiently isolated spot, I sat down on the hard tundra. “Today, we will meditate.”

“Great,” Korra said sarcastically, though she sat down next to me and obediently copied my lotus pose. “Just warning you, I was terrible at this, too, even when I could bend.”

“Nonsense,” I said dismissively, pressing my closed fists together. “My brother did teach you the mantra of the four winds, didn’t he?”

Korra gave me a confused look. “Wait, you mean we’re doing airbender meditation?”

“Do you see any candles?” I asked pointedly.

“Well, no, I just thought, since you’re…” Korra fidgeted nervously. “Well, you’re a firebender and all.”

“Ah, but it was airbender meditation that I started with,” I pointed out. “Or have you forgotten who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you are. You’re Zuko’s son.” She considerately did not say the word _ bastard. _

“I was Aang’s son first,” I corrected her, softly but firmly. “But enough about me. You know the mantra?” Korra nodded. “Good. Begin.”

She closed her eyes and spoke the opening words, and I joined her for the first few repetitions, so familiar and so dear to me. But then I let her continue on her own, while I spoke other instruction.

“I learned to control my inner fire by controlling my breathing,” I explained. “Fire needs air, you see. All the elements are connected.”

Korra nodded, eyes still closed, continuing the mantra. Undoubtedly she had been told this many times, in her training as the Avatar, for nowhere was this connection more evident than in her.

“All the elements are connected,” I repeated. “But fire is the first element.”

Korra faltered in her repetition of the mantra, and opened her eyes. “Isn’t that kind of...old Fire Nation propaganda from the war?” she asked in confusion.

“Sozin believed that fire was the _ superior _ element, and in that he was quite wrong,” I agreed. “But it is indeed the _ first.” _

Korra still looked lost. “What’s the difference?”

“There was a time, many ages ago, when no living thing could bend the elements,” I explained, placing one hand over my heart. “It was the energies within themselves that they bent then.”

“The energies,” Korra repeated. “You mean their chi?”

“Very good, Korra,” I said with an encouraging nod. “You are a healer - you know how those life energies move through the body, and you have manipulated them with water. But you also know that the chi can be bent directly.”

“Like Aang did to Yakone,” she said grimly, her eyes falling. “But he had to use the Avatar state for that.”

It was interesting, I thought, that Korra’s mind had immediately gone to Yakone, and not Ozai, who was by far the more famous example of Aang’s use of energybending. But I did not comment on this. “To bend the chi within another is a power only known to the Avatar State, yes,” I said, bringing my other hand to rest together with the first on my chest. “But to bend the chi within _ oneself _ is another matter.”

“But Amon…” Korra began, her voice uncharacteristically small.

“He could not bend your chi directly,” I pointed out. “He had to use bloodbending to alter your chi paths, and once the paths were confused you lost your ability to manipulate the elements.” I traced a path down my own arm with the opposite hand as I spoke, then closed both of my fists and held them out in front of me. “But you can still direct your own chi. You must simply learn to walk along those new paths.” 

Korra looked back up at me, hopeful. “And that will bring my bending back?”

“It was from directing their own chi that the first benders moved on to the elements - and fire came first. Can you guess why?” I opened my hands and lit a small orange flame, holding it out for her inspection.

Korra watched the colors of my fire shift from orange to red to blue. “Fire is also energy,” she observed. Her eyes widened slightly, the first sign of a dawning realization, and reflected in them the flame continued to dance - now bright green, now deep violet.

“Correct,” I replied, letting all the colors fuse into white. “From bending the energy in fire, they progressed to moving energy through air, then water and finally earth - each more substantial than the last. But all bending is about the energies, at its heart.”

The first hint of a smile I had seen from her since I had arrived appeared on Korra’s face. “Just like the Pai Sho game.”

“You see?” I said with a smile of my own, closing my hands to extinguish the flame. “Now, you understand.”

Over the next few weeks, Korra and I continued our mediation and pai sho games as I helped her reconnect with her inner fire. She never did quite manage to win a game unless I let her, but she did at least catch on to when I was letting her. But eventually, as I kept pushing her to try even after every failure, in spite of all the added difficulty of the long winter darkness of the south pole, she did manage to call forth a little flame in her hands once more. It was nothing like the bending she had been able to do as a child, but it was a start, and she was happy.

Her face fell when I informed her that this meant it was time for me to leave. “But...I still have so much more to get back,” she protested. “And what about the other elements?”

“All that will come, in time, as long as you keep working at it,” I assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “You’ll have Tenzin to help you, of course - and eventually your past lives as well.”

“I’d have to unlock the Avatar State for that,” Korra replied skeptically. “And I’ve only done that once.”

“See?” I said with a gentle smile, placing my other hand under hers that still held the warm little flame and lifting it slightly. “That proves you can.”

* * *

I said my goodbyes to my family at the south pole, and boarded the next ship back to the Fire Nation, confident that Korra was indeed on the right path, and also relieved to be heading home. I loved my mother, and Tenzin and his family, and seeing them was always a joy. But Roku’s Temple was where I belonged, and the life of a fire sage was what I had been born for.

It was past midwinter by the time I made it back to Crescent Island. I dove right back into teaching our new acolytes, grumbling about their lack of progress in my absence, but also gratified to see that I had been missed. Springtime came, and we celebrated our own Dragon Day festival on the island with special prayers and a feast - and of course fireworks of every color. Our more advanced students demonstrated their own mastery of the dragon’s fire technique that evening.

The summer solstice also came in its course, with the anointing of the new fire sages - seven of them that year, three of whom would be assigned elsewhere and four of whom would stay on with us. With Kisai as the Great Sage, we had of course been conducting all of our ceremonies in the Sun Warrior language for years by that point, which certainly helped train my ear for my ongoing work on the Air Nomad tongue with Tenzin.

Summer passed into fall and still more new acolytes arrived. The new dormitory was now entirely full, and plans were being drawn up to expand it should the need arise. And then, one evening in mid autumn after the sun had gone down, still weeks ahead of schedule, a commotion stirred through the temple. Roku’s eyes were glowing.

We quickly gathered in the sanctuary, all the sages and acolytes, and I knew at that moment, somewhere at the south pole, Korra had unlocked the Avatar State. The warm red light that radiated from the statue out of season was a message from her, from Roku and Aang and all the Avatars of the past, and from the great spirits themselves. It was a message for all of us there, and each of the sages surely heard their own special meaning in it. 

To me, piercing through the night, it said, "Well done."

Like all things in this life, the light was temporary, though its effects would be long felt. When the glow faded, I left the sanctuary and returned to my cell. Spreading a fresh sheet of paper on my desk, I dipped my brush in the inkpot, and set about writing a letter to my mother.

* * *

_ “Real forgiveness means looking steadily at the sin, the sin that is left over without any excuse, after all allowances have been made, and seeing it in all its horror, dirt, meanness, and malice, and nevertheless being wholly reconciled to the man who has done it.” _

\- C.S. Lewis, On Forgiveness


End file.
